


United We Stand | ENG

by Yaskolechka



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Berlin's Alive, Helmer's Myopathy, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Martín Isn't There, Memories, Suffering, True Love, deadly disease
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26123299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaskolechka/pseuds/Yaskolechka
Summary: Everything seems to be clear. He left him, he hurt him, he broke his heart. Certainly he must hates him now. There's no chance for them left. It would be better for both of them, if he stayed "dead". This is the only way to forget about each other, to move on.But what if it's easier to say but harder to do...
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 12
Kudos: 83





	1. The Memories Of You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, my name is Malibu and here is my first fanfiction ever. I was considering it for a while now but still, the story is very "young". Also if there's any mistakes in the chapter, feel free to correct me. English is not my native language but I was trying my best. Hope you would enjoy it! With all my love, greetings from Poland <3

Pictures in his hands remind him of everything they’ve been through, what they’ve experienced. Some of them slipped out of his hands and silently fell on the wooden floor of his bedroom. Album packed to the brim with memories of the years they had spent together weighs down on his quilt-covered lap, pages in it were slightly torn from the years of constant flipping through them, remembering, contemplating. Their rustle between his fingers was kind of calming him. Right after his awakening he felt a sudden urge to live these trapped inside the book moments all over again and to bury himself deep in thoughts how many moments like these they would’ve lived through if he had been… Exactly. If he had been what? Brave enough and not a coward? If he hadn't been denying his feelings? If he hadn't run away? But it wasn’t cowardice or attempt to deny or even getaway. He did it for love, from care. He wanted to save them from suffering later, so he made them suffer earlier. So why does he feel like it shouldn’t have ended like that, like they still should be together side by side and discover new perspectives of their relationship?

It’s too little too late now. These photos are everything that has left. The only reminder of their extraordinary, unique and marvellous friendship… Friendship and something bigger than that. Bedridden, weaker and weaker, doubting the rightness of continuing this absurd, experimental in addition treatment, he is unable to fix what he had destroyed years ago. He was only hoping that he is forgotten, long gone from the memories of the other, that he was able to move on and heal his broken heart, maybe even find someone, because he seems to be forbidden from that. He tried so many times but every time something… somebody was missing.

Has he been lying? That they’re soulmates, that he hasn’t felt anything like that with anyone but him, that he loves him? No. That he won’t think of him, that it is impossible, that he likes women too much, that he loves him too much? Yes. He had never stopped thinking of him. Every day, when he brews himself a coffee, he would think how it would’ve been if he was beside him rapturous, talkative with a dangerous shine in his eye. Every night, when he couldn’t fall asleep, he would think about him ‘cause if he had been here, they would have been dancing till tomorrow morning or just stargazing. Martín. Women seem to leave him, one by one they’re gone ‘cause “it’s impossible”. He’s sick and weak, they’re young and full of energy. They don’t want him, they want his money but when they realise death won’t come soon enough, they’re leaving because their purpose is impossible to achieve. Any of them doesn’t love him as much to stay by his side and he doesn’t love any of them as much to try to stop them. There’s only one person that would stay beside him and he would never ever let go. Martín. Their biggest problem wasn’t that they would love each other too much but how they would regain each other trusts.

But it will never happen. Five years had already passed since their last goodbye and to this day time still hasn’t brought them back together. Maybe he should have helped it, find him by himself when he still could get up from his bed on his own. He didn’t do it, of course, for fear of his reaction, for fear that he would just complicate it even more. It was better for him to think that he is dead to be able to move on because he deserves happiness. For the first few years even his own brother didn’t know he is alive and maybe he wouldn’t take treatment if it wasn’t for him. Why would he? What was left for him anyway when his one and only true love probably hates him for how he treated him and surely lives in a stable relationship with another man? Sergio, it’s obvious, but he too has his own life now when he has Inspectora and her family with him. His incidentally soon-to-be wife. If he hadn’t shown up miraculously resurrected, his hermanito would have accepted his death. So why should he take treatment?

He is already forgetting about taking his pills, maybe sometimes ignoring them with full awareness, putting them in the soil of pot plant on a windowsill in his bedroom. Nothing betrays him and arouses suspicion something is off. Nothing except of awful tremor of his hands getting stronger with every passing day. Everytime it happens he will take this album in his hands and the tremor will seem to cease. Flipping over another pages, caressing them with his fingertips, looking at them, reminding himself a familiar facial features, smiling eyes, strong jawline, wide nose and narrow lips he forgets about devastating him disease and surely also treatment. Another photo slipped through his fingers and fell down on the floor. He didn’t have the strength to pick it up. So he pick up one another. He was looking at it for a while not even trying to remember when it was taken. For what? He knows exactly that day when they arrived in Italy for the first time, when they for the first time stayed in Palermo. Martín fell in love with this city from the first sight. Sunny sicilian coasts, sweet oranges, narrow streets and beautiful townhouses. He would have been a fool if he hadn’t captured this moment, this honest joy in his friend’s eyes. If he hadn’t denied them their only chance, they would have travelled there together and lived right by the Tyrrhenian Sea.

He didn’t have the time to flip another page. There was a knock on the door in his spacious bedroom, and a moment later a young woman appeared on the doorstep with a tray with two plates on it, one with toast, one with slices of ham and tomato pesto, and a cup of coffee.

“Andrés, breakfast is ready” she announced, not taking her eyes off the tray. Only when she closed the door she realised that the man wasn’t sleeping anymore. “Good you’re awake. Sergio said he was going to join us at a dinner. You have to eat something to have a strength to greet your brother” she was talking, putting a tray on the bedside table. Her long black hair fell all over her face when she bent over. Her smile never disappeared, she was humming some catchy melody. “I see you took the pills. I’m very glad” she said, spotting an empty glass.

He smiled at her, his sight went for a poor pot plant on the windowsill. Of course, he took the pills. Girl being unaware of his scam, bent down to pick up forgotten photos, laying all over the floor. She didn’t pay attention to them, only catching a glimpse of them, realising they all portraying both men or just one particular man. That man she had never met but she knows him oh so well. Andrés talks a lot about him, much more than he’s aware of. She passed him these photos without a word, still smiling at him adorably.

“Thank you, Ellen” He took the photos from her, put them in the album and closed it. Certainly he would open it one more time in less than an hour and he would go through them all over again, then again some of them would slip from his hands and the girl would pick them up once more, when she would arrive to take the tray back.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Andrés?” she asked, in the meantime taking an empty glass in her hands to bring it back to the kitchen.

The man put aside the album on a pillow next to him and reached for the cup of a coffee. He took the sip before he answered her. “No, thank you”.

The girl nodded her head and quickly headed to the door. She was reaching for the knob, when he reminded himself about something he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Ellen”he called for her. She turned around immediately. “Actually I would have a little request. Could you bring me my sketchbook from the study? It’s in the drawer in the desk.” he said.

Ellen nodded and disappeared behind the door, got rid of the glass and after a few minutes, in which he managed to bite down half of his toast and drank some more coffee, she came back to the bedroom with a sketchbook in her hand. She passed him it and the man instantly caressed it’s leather cover with his fingers. It was so long since he had it in his hands. So long he hadn’t looked inside of it, scared of bringing back more memories. For the first few weeks he was avoiding it completely, with time he started to open it on the empty pages until he was avoiding only specific cards. Until his disease took even that away from him. His passion, his inspirations, his artistry.

“Maybe you would like to sketch something? Maybe I could bring you some pencils or pens too?” Her voice reminds him of her presence in his bedroom.

He dismissed her. She was kind, adorable and beautiful and maybe she would be his another wife but in that moment he couldn’t think of any woman, he could only think about him. Martín. He opened the sketchbook on the first site, greeted by this one photo that was always missing from the album. This one which was taken by the monks on their first day of arrival to the monastery. Martín was looking at him instead of the camera with his hands behind his back and with a wide smile on his face. Andrés was hugging him unaware yet of the declaration of love in his friend’s gaze. When he had first started sketching in this sketchbook, he glued this photo on the front page, claiming the monastery is his new chapter in his life and this book is going to be his journal. So it doesn’t surprise at all that his first drawings were of some non conventional items, then landscapes of the monastery’s surroundings and sketches of his favourite places but soon appeared full portraits, by the way very realistic and detailed, of his friend. Whether it is him building a model of the National Bank of Spain or bended over the blueprints with a pencil in his mouth or sitting in his armchair with a glass of wine in his hand. There were plenty of similar sketches, somewhere in between there were not fully refined portraits of Tatianna. Some of them were only half finished, some unshaded, some only showing an outline. His last drawing, which was separated from laters with a black, narrow, silky ribbon, was his last memory left after Martín. His tearful face, eyes glazed with tears and pain, the sight of a heartbreak. This is how he remembers him and that is how he presented him in hope that he would erase this view from his memory, close the sketchbook and throw it into the drawer. He would close this chapter once and for all.

Today he’s coming back and looking through sketches one by one, reminding himself about every occasion in which they were created, how and why. Pictures behind the ribbon were showing quick sketch of Tatianna, then Sergio, Bogota, Marseille, then appeared sketches of the Mint, the Professor in his classroom, portraits of La Banda, memorial of Moscow and Oslo, even sweet Ariadna who was to help him forget about him. Later it was nothing. Empty pages. Second, third. Visible gap, separating this part of his life from another. And again sketches. Gunfire, blood, body laying motionless in the dark tunnel. Police van, bars and hands clutching them. A face, horribly twisted in agony, as in the Munch painting. A chaotic black stain showing absolutely nothing. And behind it more dark sketches with charcoal, black ink, marker, pens. Outstretched hands, phantoms floating above the ground, dangling skeletons, grim reaper. Death. Another page and another emptiness. Another one, and suddenly a bright light appeared in the black chaotic stain, as if someone were walking directly to an oncoming train. He turned the page and this time he saw much clearer sketches of a hospital room, portraits of doctors in surgical masks, nurses with a soothing smile and a syringe in hand, Sergio sitting in the corner of the room. A few drawings of already nameless women with whom he spent a day, sometimes a few weeks. Raquel with Paula when he first met them after leaving the hospital. View of the beauty of the city from his bedroom. He looked out the window, making sure that the landscape didn't change. Even Ellen, who became his babysitter, his housekeeper, but never complained, was captured on the paper of his sketchbook too. The last sketch he could draw before he completely doubted the treatment. Already then, the slight hesitations could be seen in his lines, the tremors of his hands could be seen in them. He wouldn't even be able to hold a pencil in his hand these days, but he wanted to draw. He wanted to remember. He wanted to see how much he still remembers, how much he could sketch, based only on his own memory, his imagination. So he will, only that is left for him now.

Forgetting the half-eaten toast and half-drank coffee, he tossed the covers aside. With his sketchbook pressed against his chest, he sat down on the edge of the bed. He tried to summon the strength to get up, to hide in his office among the landscapes of Paris, Vienna, Florence, Berlin, Palermo, Martín's portraits covered with black cloth or turned with linen facing the wall. Even before leaving the bedroom, he faces a problem. How was he supposed to dress up when he didn’t even have the strength to get up? His leg muscles are stiff, they rebel against him and hurt ungodly with each movement. The hands refuse to obey. He had to pick up a sketchbook a few times already, as it has been slipping from his inert hand all the time. But he is determined. He got up, stood on shaky legs, clutching the bedside table and almost knocking the cup down. It didn't take long until he actually inadvertently nudged it and it fell to the floor, spilling coffee and breaking to shreds. He winced at the sound of breaking porcelain. He wanted to bend down and pick up the broken cup, but he did not even bend in two, and the sketchbook fell from his hand, falling into a puddle of coffee, he himself fell back helplessly on the mattress. He looked at his hands, they began to tremble again. He looked at them as if through a fog. Does he stop seeing too? He blinked a few times and felt something wet slide down his cheek. One tear. Then another and another. He didn't know when he started crying. He wanted to reach for the sketchbook but he couldn’t reach it, he couldn’t bend down. He wanted to reach for the album, but he couldn't twist around and reach for the pillow. He hid his face in his hands, silencing his nasty sobbing. Pathetic, powerless, pitiful. The noise he made summoned a worried Ellen into his bedroom. The girl did not ask what happened, she immediately started cleaning the broken cup and wiping the coffee. She picked up the sketchbook and wiped it dry, but the coffee managed to tint a few pages. Not just any pages, because those the most important for him. He sobbed even louder. The album and sketchbook are all that is left of him. There is nothing that reminds him of him more than pictures and sketches. He had taken nothing that belonged to Martín with him, so that when he could not sleep at night, he could at least pretend that he was there for him. He only has an album and a sketchbook. The only memento of his dearest friend, the love of his life. And even this is now devastated.


	2. Trauma brings relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sergio had finnally accepted his brother death, he got a call from someone who claims Andrés might not be dead at all. He found his brother in hospital with a woman by his side. From this time Sergio is responsible for the Andrés' well-being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me some time to upload this chapter. Well, to translate it and then upload. But still, here it comes. Hope I'm not so bad in English and it will be understandable. Anyway, enjoy for now.

Hospital rooms was always making him sick. Not that they were repulsive or something. Definitely not. The contrary, the white of the medical kilts and sterile rooms were guaranteeing a safe asylum and bringing relief in suffering. The thing is that he spent his whole childhood in the very same hospital and the memory of that is somehow traumatic. He had spent enough time in similar rooms to feel disgust. Disgustingly familiar. As a child he was laying in a hospital bed surrounded by nurses and doctors instead of playing outside with his peers or even going to school. He doesn't even remember his family home, that's how long time he spent in this shithole. He had gotten to know his own halfbrother in the hospital room. To these days he remembers when he was brought with their dad. The twelve years old boy seemed to be a little shy but very elegant, very neat, nearly completely different from younger one. Their similarity ended on their dark hair and dark eyes. Even their facial features didn't indicate that they were related to each other. Sergio, at that time eight years old boy, wouldn't suspect that this boy could be his brother if it wasn't his father who standed behind the back of the teenager with hands on boy's shoulders and proud smile on his face. Sergio would've thought that the boy got lost, that's all. But no, he turned out to be Sergio's older halfbrother with a deadly sick mother staying at home. Not so long from their meeting, Andrés ended up all alone with still weak Sergio's after death of their father. The bond brothers had been building for years now was certainly unbreakable.

That's why the whole Sergio's world broke apart, when Andrés suddenly had decided to sacrifice his life for the bunch of strangers, for his brother, so they could get out of the Mint safely. His older brother had a lot of in common with their father so it shouldn't have been as shocking for him as it was, when Andrés imitated their father's death. He conciounsly chose to die as a martyr, as a hero, pierced by bullets in the tunnel under the Mint. He prefered this over a slow death. He didn't want to wait for his last days, for the disease development. He didn't want to be a burden to his brother, to anyone really. He couldn't stand the thought that he would be weak, miserable, pathetic even. Disease wasn't his thing so the better option was to let himself be killed off before. But Sergio in that case wasn't sure if it would be better for him to lose his brother now during the biggest heist in entire Spain or later when Andrés would lose ability to speak. He didn't consider his brother death in any of their plans. He was mad at him that he stayed there to die instead of trying to escape when he still had enough time. What did Andrés thought when he was leaving his brother like this? What was his last thought when first bullets hit him? Did he saw flashback of his life in front of his eyes like it would be a trailer in a cinema, a compilation of the best scenes? Even if Andrés didn't see them, Sergio could see them for him.

Sergio was sure that he would never ever see his brother alive, nor his dead body. He tasted the life without him, the bitter taste of loneliness. He accepted his brother death with a heartache. Raquel helped him a lot. If it wasn't her, he would never dare to execute Andrés' plan of robbing the Bank of Spain. He had to keep his head for Andrés, for the plan. They were doing it not only for Río, but also for him. For Berlín. Their leader, self-righteous, arrogant, narcisstic, emotionless leader, who sacrificed himself so they would be safe and sound. Merciless monster who gave up his own life for the sake of whole La Banda.

Was he shocked when only year ago just three months after melting gold, after getting almost everyone from under the rubble of the Bank he got a call from a woman claiming his brother is alive. How was he supposed to believe her words? Andrés was shoot to death. There was too many bullets for anyone to survive this. Even freaking Predator would've been dead by now. And even if it would be possible for Andrés to live through the gunshots his disease was already in an advanced stage. He would've been dead from the Myopathy about two years ago. No, it wasn't truth, it was impossible. It's a mistake. That's how he had thought before he actually got to see his brother in a be damned hospital. Weak, hopeless, emaciated, pale with bruised cheeks and bloodshot eyes, unable to communicate with an outside world. Fragile and broken. Andrés hadn't got strength to squeeze his hand when they had finally reunited. Or just to turn his head and smile at him. The nurse was still taking care of him just in case he would get worse. She stayed day and night by his bed and if Sergio wouldn't have know better, he would thought that she is... Which one already? A sixth wife? Ellen, as she introduced herself when she invited Sergio over for a quick talk about his brother health. Andrés was in critical state when he was found under the hospital door in nothing but thin gown on his skinny body. He was beaten nearly to death with face covered not only by his facial hair but also nasty bruises, starving for not weeks but months with developing illness. Convalesence took a very long weeks in which Andrés was slowly regaining on weight and healing from the constant beating. Bruises got healed but not his psyche so after Andrés' discharge, Ellen by the Sergio's request became his nurse at home.

The very first words his brother managed to say was like a knife in the heart for dear Sergio. "When would Martín come?" he asked. He was lying in his king size bed in beautiful mansion at the east coast of Spain, a picture of them together in his slightly trembling hand. Andrés and Martín. They were always together after Andrés had kidnapped young Martín from his home in Buenos Aires because he claimed the Argentine had the "potential". Martín loyal as a freaking dog, eternally by the Andrés' side no matter what. Is it another wedding, or another divorce. Another journey or another heist. Always together. Now Andrés is asking about him with a smile on his face after four years since their last goodbye, last "Farewell, my friend" like he can't remember they've parted ways. And it's the first real, honest, hopefull smile Sergio's got to see after Andrés' recover. The one apearing always at the mention of Martín, even if it's just his name. Sergio, poor Sergio, who knows exactly, what happenned with his Martín, was forced to answer his question but none of the possible answers was satisfying. Was he to remind Andrés now when he has agreed for the treatment that he broke them apart and made Martín left his life in pieces? No, he wouldn't do it. But on the other hand, should he lie to him and tell him Martín would be here soon and would stay by his side forever? He have never lied to his brother. He would never lie to him. Never again. "Martín had to stay in Palermo for a while. Had something to take care of". Andrés of course was aware of the fact that Martín had a life apart of him. He waited patiently for his "engineer" to appear in his, in their new house, because he can't imagine his life without him. Sergio hasn't told him yet, when would Martín come, but he knew it would be this weekend. This Saturday or even Friday evening, cause he would be impatient too. But it never came. He didn't knew that Martín was still grieving over his beloved's death, most probably he left to Argentine in search of alternative, that he was no longer living in Palermo as they both dreamed. Sergio had never told him. Martín was the only one for who he was swallowing these pills so eagerly every morning and letting them punctured him with syringe. The only one who matters.

Until the time Andrés reminded himself that it was only an illusion. Martín would never came, Martín doesn't want to see him, Martín doesn't even know, he's alive. He pushed him away, threw him out the door like he had never meant anything to him. And than it started. Refusal to take medications, nostalghia, silence, apathy. He didn't talk with Sergio, he didn't talk with Ellen, he didn't want to see neither Raquel nor Paula. He closed himself in his bedroom and was once again waiting for the disease to finally kill him.

Sergio realized just now what did he do. Because it is his fault why they're not here together either as friends or as lovers, right? He had come up with an absurd idea to point out their attachment. He was the one who claimed Martín is a danger to their father's plan. He was the one who pretentiously blurted that he is in love with Andrés. He was the one who gave Andrés an idea they can't do the heist with Martín. It's because of him Andrés broke them apart. He had never considered himself guilty. His brother was an adult and it was his own decison but now when his brother is depressed he starts to blame himself for it. There was for sure a different possibility for them. It hadn't had to be a parting. Martín could've stayed in the monastery and worked on their wonderful, golden plan and Andrés would've have thought twice before he would jump in front of the machine guns. And that was the whole problem.

Andrés has already known it was his last heist before he would die. He has been planning his death in the Mint. He had become an asshole, an egoist so after his death no one would say: "My God, such a shame, from all the people in the world it had to be him". He had pushed away Martín along with the love he offered him just because he had come in terms with death. This whole speech about betrayal being inherent of love had the same overtone as Martín's "bum, bum, ciao". Total bullshit. Maybe Andrés had needed some kind of an excuse like later had Martín. He had known Tatianna would leave him sooner or later but Martín, oh, he would stay and Martín, well, he would never betray him, never in his whole lifetime. So he had changed and become snippy, sarcastic, psychopatic son of a motherfucking bitch, become insensitive, mocking, arrogant jerk. He had changed himself and Martín.

Now, with the demons of the past haunting him and with the specter of a relapse of disease hanging over him, Martín would have been his cure for all evil. He needed him by his side. He has always needed him. Sergio has witnessed their unique relationship many times, whether voluntarily or not. His brother has been changing his women like gloves, has been selecting friends, and cutting off contacts whenever he didn't like something they had said, and yet Martín hadn't been replaced for years. They had fitted together, completed themselves, been made for each other. Had had eyes only for... plan. It has been so damn irritating. Andrés' oblivion and Martín's openness. The way they were acting around each other as if the whole world was theirs. The way they were bringing Sergio everywhere so he could third-wheeling them and witnessing their constant pining for each other. He had had enough these small gestures, subtle touch, hermetic jokes. Enough of Andrés' nipping at Martín while they were walking side by side. Enough of Martín's staring at Andrés just a little too long than he should. Enough Andrés' joyful chatter about his another new love, right after he had been crying in Martín's arms for past two months. Enough of Martín's teary smile at every wedding rather from his helplessness than hapinness.

Martín had flown back to Argentina, at least that's what Sergio thought, because they had lost their contact right after the heist and the small Martín's flat in Palermo had been abandoned. He's no longer with Mirko because when Sergio came to him, he was already engaged with another man. In the monastery Sergio had met with the monks but no one else. There has been no tracks of Martín's living there, none except of the ripped apart plans stained with red wine and possibly blood. Martín was nowhere to be found, no one knew where he could be, he wasn't captured by the police, he wasn't lying in any hospital or even cementery and still Sergio couldn't be sure if Martín was alive.

Martín's body could be swelling and rotting somewhere forgotten by everyone, could be eating by worms so that the only thing reminding of Martín's existing would be his skeleton. He could be dead but Andrés was living in conviction Martín hates him, had forgotten about him long time ago. As a result, he's drowning his sorrows in alcohol, destroying the liver and the effects of the treatment, although he claims that there were none. He becomes depressed and repeats Martín's actions from the years before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Feel free to point out any mistakes you spotted, comment down below what's your opinion. And well, see you in another chapter, hopefully sooner than this one.


	3. Reunion will do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sergio has finally arrived. His brother seems to be stuck in his own world. He is isolated and distant. Ellen is trying to convince Sergio to go and find the man from the photos. She somehow knows that Sergio is not willing to meet with Martín...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So, first thing first I would like to thank you all for being here, reading my work and commenting. It's an honour for me as a new member of this fandom to be welcomed so kindly by other authors. I love you all very much and I adore your works ♥️
> 
> Second thing second, here comes the third chapter already. Story is slowly going forward. Just a bit of a patience and enjoy reading. Kisses, Malibu ♥

Sometimes disease takes everything from you. Your energy, your hope, your will to fight, your friends and family. It leaves you all alone against the evil of the world. And that's exactly what had happened with him. Myopathy took away from him everything that ever mattered to him. The only thing left was the sense of elegance and the need to surround himself with beauty. Of course, it had never taken his brother away from him. It could never. But the Andrés' materialistic world hadn't changed a bit. A large, completely unnecessary mansion, at least not of this size and splendor, on the Costa Blanca in the small coastal Los Alcazares, clearly stood out among the other houses around. Even though Andrés was never a fan of modernity, his villa was an acquisition of modern architecture. It was impossible to deny its charm, and even Sergio, who was skeptical about the ideas of his brother, had to admit that he had chosen a beautiful house. Already at the beginning of Andrés' treatment, he heard from him where he and Martín would live, showed him around the bedroom that would be their shared one, with a large bed and a lot of pillows, showed rooms where there would be studios for Martín and Andrés with easels and a drawing table, took him to the other end of the house, saying that when Sergio finally marries Raquel, he is to bring her in here, because his brother cannot imagine that his sister-in-law would live on the other side of Spain.

Today he came for dinner, a short while before he had to go back to Raquel and Paula. Even before he got out of the car, Ellen stormed out to meet him. He thought she wanted to say hello to him, that she missed moments for herself only, but the woman didn't throw herself around his neck. He could only assume what had happened to Andrés this time that had shaken up poor Ellen. It also shocked him, even if he wasn't privy to it yet. However, he did not learn much from her, because from her word of mouth he only understood "Andrés refuses to take medication". It wasn't the first time in therapy, so he knew that wasn't the only problem. It soon turned out that the reason for Andrés' strange behavior was known only to him.

He came downstairs to the dining room with Ellen’s help, not indignant and without insisting that he could do it on his own, as he could sometimes do. On the contrary. He humbly walked by her side, his hand locked in her iron grip. In his free hand he was clutching a sketchbook that Sergio had almost forgotten because Andrés himself had thrown it into the closet after realizing that Martín was gone. Something has changed then. For some reason, the old wounds were scratched. Sergio believed that nothing happened without a reason, but he did not ask his brother about a sketchbook. Without a word, he watched Andrés' actions, who hadn't even given him a single glance, as he sat down at the table. With remarkable care, he put the sketchbook next to his plate, resting his hand on it, rubbing the stain on the leather cover until Ellen served the food. Usually, Andrés would have started a topic of conversation that interested him, or asked politely about Raquel and how Paula's school was. This time he was stabbing his portion on the plate with a fork in silence, nibbling on small bites reluctantly. Ellen exchanged a worried look with a confused Sergio. Right, since discharge from the hospital, Andrés hasn't been very talkative. One could say that he closed in on himself. They were putting blame on whatever had happened to him after the attack on the mint, what had led him to the hospital in such a critical condition. The wounds themselves on his torso were soiled, infected, and poorly treated, if healed at all. Andrés never said anything about the events themselves. He always avoided the subject like fire, as if he feared that a mere confession would cause this nightmare to come back and play out again in his life. A year has passed and Sergio is still unsure of anything and is only speculating that his brother may have gone through what Rio was going through. The only topic Andrés always pursued was Martín. He would tell Ellen about him, mention him with Sergio, refer to him on every possible occasion. "If Martín saw it, he would say that ..." or "If Martín were here, he would have done it like this ..." or "Martín always said that." Such constant belaboring of one and the same was driving Sergio into a white fever, but he never said anything. Now he even missed it, because back then Andrés was at least happier, smiling and enjoying the slightest improvement. Now he was just nibbling on his plate, not really eating the prepared dish.

“Andrés, are you okay? You don't like it?” Ellen soon asked, but her question was not answered.

There was no reaction from the older man. He continued to jab at the food with his fork, not lifting his head, making eye contact with either his brother or the nurse.

“Andrés, if there is anything that bothers you then feel free to share it with us. Sometimes it's better to let it go, brother.” Sergio joined, extending his hand to Andrés.

And then Andrés' eyes fell on his brother for a fraction of a second before he got up from his chair, picked up the sketchbook, hugging it to his chest, and left the table at his own pace. Step by step and he disappeared from their view, leaving them speechless in the dining room. It definitely wasn't a behavior Andrés would represent.

If Sergio thinks telling everything they did to him is going to help Andrés, he probably doesn't know how hard it was for him to survive it. For Andrés, the best option was to forget it, erase all the memories of that period and pretend it never happened. He didn't want to tell this story because that would remind him of his torment. He would be haunted by the nightmares again, and he would be afraid to fall asleep lest he would be dragged out of his cramped cell in the morning in his thin pajamas. He will be looking back paranoidly again, fearing that someone is standing behind him to push him down the stairs again. He will be avoiding anything that is electric because they remind him of the shocks they were subjecting him to. He can't stand the cigarettes because he knows there are burn marks on his arms. He shudders at the sight of the belt because he hears the whistle of air and feels the terrible pain of his whipped back. They broke his phalanges, blackmailed him, and threatened to find his brother. They found out about Martín and said that he would be treated in the same way, that they would kill him if Andrés did not confess and testify. They were strangling him almost to unconsciousness with a plastic bag, a piece of cloth, with their bare hands. They were drowning him in a barrel of water, sometimes with diluted chloroform, to put him to sleep. They were giving him some strange drugs that were supposed to delay his illness, but with bothersome side effects. There was a rash on his skin, even suppuration, his stomach ached and he felt nauseous, he had hallucinations and memory lapses. He was beaten, kicked and physically abused. Several times he was faced with a choice: kill himself or continue the ordeal, and several times he reached for his gun to shoot himself in the head, he reached for a rope to hang himself, he reached for a knife to stab himself, but he never did. Martín was right. He is a coward. Not only in love, but apparently in death too. He did not dare to end this ordeal. In the cell, however, it seemed to him that he had a reason to live. Somewhere there is his brother waiting for him, but most importantly, somewhere there Martín is waiting for him. His poor engineer probably wonders what is happening to him, and he is imprisoned, he doesn't even remember why.

Interrogations were still going on, they were still forcing him to testify. They showed him pictures of people he had never seen before, claiming they were his accomplices. They talked to him and about him as Berlin, and he just laughed. Why should he be called "Berlin"? Who gives oneself a name derived from the city? But he associated Berlin with something. It had some beautiful story. His love? One of his wives? He remembers the Berlin Philharmonic, which he often visited on free evenings. He remembers the breathtaking musical interpretation of the Libertango. Finally, he also remembered that it was there, during this particular performance, that his gaze met the expressive blue-green eyes of a younger man. How much has passed since then? Two years? No, a little longer. Five, definitely five.

He sat down at the desk in his office with a sketchbook open on the blank pages, trying to remember that moment. Today he knows that this first meeting took place almost fifteen years ago and, if he thought carefully, he would even know the exact date so that he could tell when the next anniversary would be. He remembered that day, and if he could, he would have drawn the memory. The tremor of his hands did not let go, the pencil kept slipping from his fingers, and when he managed to draw a line, it was so curved that it couldn’t be called a line. He hasn't drawn anything for months, the disease has made it impossible for him. He was afraid that he would never draw anything again. He tossed the pencil on the desk. The stylus shattered into small pieces, and the wooden shaft itself fell onto the oak panels. All he had left to do was wait for death. He cupped his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut just to keep the tears from flowing out. He will not show weakness to his younger brother. Ellen could see his breakdown moment, she's not that important to him.

However, the girl is as concerned about his health as his brother. She sees more every day than Sergio does in his short but frequent visits. From the way he talks about this man in the photos, she figured it must have been someone important to him. On the occasion of the Sergio's visit, she promised herself to ask him about this man. Motivated by Andrés' strange behavior, she decided the time had finally come. The two of them stayed in the dining room. Sergio was struggling to finish his dish, not quite knowing how to react. Should he follow Andrés and see what is happening to him or leave him alone with his own thoughts and let him make up his mind calmly.

"You never told me you had another brother," Ellen said, pushing her plate away from herself.

Sergio looked at her in surprise at such a sudden and absurd statement. They have no other siblings, they only have each other, there has always been only them. Until…

"Martín is not our brother," he replied, a bit too harshly, too abruptly. This man had nothing to do with their family. Theoretically not. In practice, he could be his brother-in-law, if Andrés had accepted some facts earlier, if Sergio hadn't been so… disgusted, irritated.

“Well, he says so much about him. I thought they were related” she explained, ignoring Sergio's tone and ignoring his irritation. “He had to be close to him. Sometimes he couldn't talk about anything else”, she continued, watching Sergio's neutral expression begin to show signs of agitation. He nervously adjusted his glasses on his nose and fiddled with his fingers, tapping an uneven rhythm on the table top.

"They were friends," he announced, but Ellen knew there was something going on.

“You didn't like him, did you? Because your brother had someone next to him who meant as much to him as you did, maybe even more, maybe in a different sense”, she deliberated. She wasn't going to give up, and Sergio wasn't going to let her win. Nonsense, he was never jealous of Martín. "The truth is that this man," she continued, "Martín," she emphasized, much to the younger of the brothers’ displeasure. “helped Andrés recover after such a hard time for him. Just a thought of him. Think what would happen if he were here. Andrés needs him. Does Martín even know he's alive?” she asked.

"I have no contact with ... Martín. I don't even know where he might be now, or if he's still alive at all", he said, surprising Ellen with his choice of vocabulary. "Andrés and Martín separated five years ago. Martín was in love with him, I reminded Andrés about it and I think I got them apart. You can imagine what a wreck of a man Martín was back then, and the news of Andrés' death shattered him even more. I would doubt if he was still alive, he was having suicidal thoughts..."

"You're an asshole!" Ellen jumped up from her chair, which crashed against the floor with force of recoil. "How can you speak of someone who was so important to your brother like that?! How can you wish him dead?! Do you know what Andrés says about him? That he was always with him, that he never let him down, that they understood each other without words, that he knew exactly what he needed, that no one cared for him like he did before. And you are hostile to him only because he was in love with him! You are a bastard, Sergio, and a blind man because you cannot see that your brother loves him just as much!" she exploded.

She gave him one last look, disgusted with his opinion of Martín, and stormed out of the dining room. Sergio tried to understand what he had said that made her so angry. She doesn't know Martín personally, she only knows him from Andrés' stories, in which, of course, Martín will be flawless. Because Andrés had never seen Martín as a ticking bomb, an unexploded ordnance that could be blown up by a slight jolt. He did not see in him his impulsive temperament, mania for power, the danger that he could bring with him. He was perfect for him. Even Tatianna was no match for him, and they had something in common. Now, even if Ellen is right and Andrés needs him, where will they be looking for Martín? He's just gone stone to water, he's nowhere to be found. But it was only Sergio's cheap excuse for not finding him, because he didn't want to, because he believed Andrés would be satisfied with his family. He preferred to think that Martín had shot himself in the head and was rotting in a roadside ditch, rather than that there was a chance for both of them to reunite.

He sticked with his claim every time Ellen argued with him, that he did not know where Martin is, that there is no way to find him, despite the fact that Raquel herself some time ago proposed to contact with Palermo. Day after day Andrés was getting worse. He has stopped leaving the bedroom, he's just sitting in bed among the pictures taken from the album and with a sketchbook on his chest, he doesn't talk or answer questions, he doesn't eat or take medication, he stares at one point on the wall. Sergio had looked at the wall several times himself, but saw nothing on there. His brother suddenly stopped moving, as if hibernating. Ellen is still trying to convince him that this whole Martín will have a greater influence on him, he will do anything for him and if she has to, she will find him herself. Sergio, however, waited for another few days until he heard the same from Raquel.

"Andrés, you can't stop therapy now," he said, sitting down next to his brother's bed. Andrés squeezed the photo tighter in his hand, but then loosened his grip. His favorite photo of Martín in Palermo. Sergio sighed. “You miss him?” he asked. His only answer was one tear on Andrés' cheek. “He certainly misses you too. Would you like him to be here? Do you want to see him?” he asked more questions, but he didn't get any answers to them, not even a nod of his head.

When he finally made his decision, he wasn't very pleased with it, but what is not being done for a brother. Ellen, however, was delighted when he shared his conclusion with her. "I will find Martín, even dead."


	4. What's Left After You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's living his new life. Being called a killer, a traitor, a psycho was hurting him, of course, but he deserved it. It's about time he moves on. He's pretty successful right now. At least he thinks so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! ❤ Here comes the fourth chapter already. It took me a long time to translate it being busy not only with the fanfic but also with work and studies. But I managed to do it and I invite you to read the next part. With all of my love, Malibu ❤

The heat in Palermo was driving people insane; the sun has already burned holes in their skin. Most of the tourists were spending their holiday at the beach. Just a few of them decided to go sightseeing around the town. However the town's streets were crowded and loud; languages from all over the world were mixing together making the incomprehensible noise; cars were driving there and back; another ambulance went for an intervention from the nearest hospital; right under the windows youngsters were laughing loudly. Due to this sicilian noise he was struggling to keep himself focused on the plan he was sketching. Even his music played from the old gramophone was drowned out. He erased the latest lines displeased with his recent ineptitude. He already lost count how many times he rubbed the eraser across the paper. Just a few more times and there will be no paper at all and then he would be forced to start from the beginning. He grabbed the ruler and put it on paper drawing the perfect straight line in the proper measure. He stared at his work trying to find himself in his complicated drawings which for now did look like nothing particular. This plan has to be finished till tomorrow morning but so far he didn't sketch anything specific; not even one line was looking as if it is intended to create a coherent picture of the future audience. He definitely needs a hot cup of a strong coffee to not lose his patience and energy completely. Bunches of crumpled paper and broken pencils were already lying about on the floor and it's still only beginning. The last month in work was extremely rough for him. A load of another errands and constant fixing from his boss was delaying the end of this torture. He had to ask for the change of his deadline on part of his plans. Even if his boss wasn't so happy about it 'cause his firm was hiring the best of the best he eventually agreed to the delay. But Martín was the best of the best.

Few knew that his scientific mind really dealt with architecture and designs, not only heists for that matter. Certainly everyone was convinced that "Engineer" was just a nickname given by Andrés. Meanwhile he just got hired in an architectural firm. He didn't need that job to provide himself money for living 'cause it was guaranteed by melted gold but it was something that helps him keep his mind busy. Leaning above the paper with a pencil in his mouth he was wondering about the correctness of his measurements, not about his past life in the monastery.

Nowadays wasn't so bad though. He was still living in Palermo despite the fear of the Police and Interpol because the town was the only place where his dreams could come true. He left the small, cluttered shithole apartment on the suburbs and moved into his own two-room apartment in the modern estate with a breathtaking view. From the balcony of his bedroom he could admire waves which were swaying the sailboats at the horizont, the sandy beach besieged in crowds of half-naked bodies and of course a complex of similar apartment buildings. The distance between each building was so small for the neighbours that they could exchange their meals at the dinner from the windows but he wasn't complaining for the lack of privacy. He always had the heavy grey curtains which were drawn right after he finished his work. If the Bank of Spain heist hadn't taken place he would never be able to live in the place where running water wasn't a rareness, the electricity wasn't turned on for the several days and the cockroaches were living in his bathtub. Frankly, he has just now started to really care about his surroundings, care about living with proper dignity. To think that not so long he was ready to give up his life in this bank.

He grabbed the pencil even harder in his hand biting at the wood. He would already be somewhere else, preferably six feet under 'cause as his plan assumed he would blow up the whole building right after everyone else would safely get out of it. Sometimes he still has the breathing problem. After the explosion he got stuck under the rubble of the Bank. He was counting on a quick hurtless death but the ceiling that fell down on him broke his ribs and unabled him to catch a breath properly; did the damage but didn't kill him. A horrible pain. Nothing less, nothing more. He remembers how he was begging the Death to finally come and take him to the other side, to his beloved. He squeezed his eyes shut; his eyes stinging from dust and volatile toxic compounds in the air. The eternal darkness, feeling of the bliss and equilibrium. As though he was falling from the high skycraper but he wasn't afraid that down there he'd become a small puddle of blood and bones, a human mess. The only vision before his eyes was not the pleasest one, ceirtanly not something he expected. Oh hell no. The vision of bloody floor in the library of the bank, a maniac smile of the man in black, smoking gun, woman's body lying still with hole between her eyes. He deserved to be haunted by this memory. If he would have thought, analized, considered the pros and cons, it would never have come to that. What had gotten into him? And now Nairobi is dead, La Banda is hating on him, Helsinki is broken after lose of his friendess. And he? He is lying under the rubble trying to strangle himself with a hood of the jumpsuit. Every movement of his chest, every breath he takes is causing him pain even more. He'll help the Death. The building vibrates and on his limp body fell another sheets of rubble. Only an awful animalistic groan of pain teared out of his chest before he passed out.

Despite the overwhelming pain he opened his eyes in hope he would see Andrés by his side. "If I'm dead, why the hell I still feel pain". He heard voices around himself, incredibly loud voices, everyone was shouting at each other and even if he want to he wouldn't be able to understand a thing. He was light as a feather, rocking from side to side. He blinked a few times. His vision became clearer and he recognized the red of the jumpsuit. He moved his face away from the warm neck realizing immediately that the rocking was due to being carried in arms of the stronger, much bigger man.  _ Helsinki _ . Why did he do it? Martín was so close. He would have died and made everyone happy he left this world. He wanted to die as a freaking dog forgotten, left under the Bank's rubble which he had robbed.

To this days he's haunted by every insult, every accusation. Haunted by Tokío's insults like he's an egoistic son of a bitch and fucking psycho. Haunted by Bogota's wishing him death in the worst torments. Haunted by every single glare full of disgust Río and Stockholm was giving him. Haunted by Denver's tears who was grieving after just another death. They were all here standing above him, while he has just regained his consciousness and was still breathing with the help of the respirator, just to tell him he should have killed himself, should have been killed by Gandía. He wasn't even defending himself. How was he supposed to? He wasn't able to form a word, just the tears were rolling down his cheeks. Even the Professor told him they no longer know each other. He made it clear. "You could throw yourself under the train, _ hermanito _ , I wouldn't cry after you." But he wasn't the only one who was treated so badly. Poor Helsiniki who cleaned his wounds with care and kissed his pale cheeks with affection. According to them he was a disgrace for Nairobi. What would she say? How does she feel now? After all he was looking after her killer. Everyone was treating Martín like he was the one who pulled the trigger. But Mirko. He was the only one left who helped Martín. He forgave him this bum bum ciao bullshit, he didn't blamed him for the Nairobi's death, he shared his story with him. It was clear that he would like to have Palermo near himself, he loved him. And Palermo? He needed somebody who would show him the road, tell him how to live while you have nothing, no love, no friendship, no value.

Weeks has passed. Martín was coming back to health while Mirko was taking care of him. They started living together. Helsinki gave his whole heart to poor Palermo who didn't know how to requit his feelings. Sure, there was a sex, not a bum bum ciao, but passionate love making but it never turn into the love itself. It was just... for pleasure. Naturally their relationship have broken apart. Martín has already knew he would never love again, not when he's still thinking about Andrés and Mirko has found himself a man with whom he associates his future and whom he deserves. Palermo was happy for him. He accepted his loneliness with an extreme ease. Helsinki has been trying to apologise to him but Martín just waved his hand. "You can't be sorry for your love. Go and be happy with him, _ amigo _ ." Their last kiss was their goodbye, a short one, friendly even, not betraying recent intimacy between them. Why it is always a damn kiss that ends everything?

He would lie if he would tell he had already forgotten about the kiss he had shared with Andrés. Truth be told, he's still looking for the same kiss but no other man couldn't kiss him like that. Some didn't even kiss him at all. When he had lost his hope he would experience one of them ever again he buried himself in memories of the dead beloved. Somewhere on his desk a small wooden box was lying. Under some plan, between portfolio and catalog. The dust had never had time to settle on it, because he was furiously wiping off every speck of it, but it had not been opened for years. Martín was calling everyone around himself cowards but the biggest one was he himself. After their goodbye he had never dared to write a word with a pen hidden inside the box. He had never dared to read the dedication on the golden plate inside which he a few years ago was reading every morning. He prefered throw the pen away, deny it existence rather than scratch old wounds with the short inscription: "For my dearest friend. Never forget your value. For me you're precious more than all the gold in the world. Yours Andrés". Oh, what he would give to make Andrés his for real. In the full sense of the word. Meantime what does he have left after him? The pen he's afraid to use, afraid to look at. Lying forgotten across his room, in drawers, closets, shelves as any other Andrés's gift; soft dress shirts, shiny cufflinks, a bow tie which Andrés gave him claiming Martín looks better in it, golden watch he never wore afraid to scratch it, broke it, a glass bottle of his favourite perfum that were used only halfly 'cause he received it around the time of their goodbye.

Scratching the paper with a pencil he promised himself he would look through the box dedicated to his beloved Andrés hidden under his bed. But not today yet, certainly not today 'cause finally there was a breakthrough in his work. The crowd of citizens and tourists fell quiet and he regain his focus. He had just drawn the first nave of the auditiory he's proud of. Keep going and maybe he would be rewarded by sweet sleep in Morpheus' arms. For the week now he's source of energy is unhealthy amounts of coffee and energy drinks. He starts doubting the caffeine is enough to keep him awake for the whole day long.

His white beast though is a whole different story running across his living room and calling him to play with it. This naughty boy doesn't need any coffee to be full of energy but he's sleeping while Martín is away working. And while Martín is at home, little furry ball is following his every step as though he's afraid that Martín would get lost in this huge apartment. Even now he's sitting on the desk of his owner and watching every movement of his hands. He's waiting for his master to throw another ball of paper to run after. The kitten had broken into the Martín's home while he was carrying boxes with his belongings and immediately found himself a comfortable place on his new sofa staring at the suprised Martín with his heterochromatic eyes. "Great, I love it in here! From now on you're feeding me!" Back then his purebred tomcat was just a kitten who escaped his neighbour 'cause he didn't like his new owner. Martín decide to take a small angora cat in, actually buy him for the unbelievable amount of money. Since that day the little tomcat is anywhere where Martín is, in the kitchen during breakfast, in the living room while he's working, in the bedroom playing with the blanket Martín is sleeping under. Not so long ago he was meowing loudly trying to catch Martín's attention and even his deafness wouldn't stop him but day after day he learned Martín's behavior and he's existing near him in silence. He's even sleeping curled beside the Martín's warm body or on his other pillow with a tail on Martín's face. He didn't bother that he has his own bed prepared in the corner. He's eating on the counter with his bowl next to Martín's plate, in other way he would refuse to eat. And if Martín dissapears behind the doors, the cat goes crazy, so he's even guarding him in bathroom. If he would be able to hold a pencil in his tiny paws he would draw the plan of the carton boxes or the cat trees.

Martín stole a glance at him with a small smile on his face. The cat was trying to reach him with its paw meowing from time to time.

"I'm working, Ingo" he said making the cat tilt its head. The rhythmic tapping of a pencil on the tabletop made it interested in sent vibration. "We'll play later" he added.

  
The tomcat narrowed its eyes, blinked with the blue one and then closed both of them and curled on the desk.  _ Ingeniero _ . He was supposed do by named Ladrón after his breaking and entering into Martín's living room but Ingeniero was reminding him of Andrés. Ingo seemed to like his new name even if he recognizes it from the way Martín's mouth moved, his gestures and timbre of his voice. He was purring in delight even if he didn't hear actual sound of his name. With Ingo by his side Martín was less lonely, he has someone for who he comes home from work. His cat was always waiting for him at the front door, he's sensing the moment of Martín's coming back. Maybe Martín needed a ball of white fur loving him with its cat love not a shitty bum bum ciao. With the cat it will be easier to move on with his new life.


	5. It Takes Two To Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martín is looking back at his life. How is he still alive? Why does he keep going through his life? What is the purpose of his life anyway? Was it always like that or just from the moment he came back? Sergio always complicates everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me again. Honestly I'm so sorry for delaying every chapter. Wish I would write and translate it much faster. Anyway hope you still there and still enjoying each new update. Alright, camera, action! ❤

Investments for the new estates in Palermo were growing like mushrooms. When he started working in an architectural firm, he did not think that it would be a profitable profession for him. Ever since he met Andrés, all his dreams of fulfilling a career as an architect were forgotten, and since he entered his criminal world of heists, he never imagined that he would ever come back to it. As a gold owner, he has guaranteed a sufficient life for himself and his cat but without a job, he would only get bored. Besides, he had a need to draw plans and designs, and nothing gives you a better opportunity to draw plans than working in the architecture industry. By the way, he is successful in it and, if he proves himself in his next projects, a managerial position may be waiting for him. He could be his own boss and he could manage a group of subordinates. For now, he is still getting new orders from his boss. He quietly hinted that he was overwhelmed with work and that it would be better to hand over one or two jobs to someone else, because after all, there were a few other architects in the company, but his supervisor insisted that Martín take care of it personally. Over the years he had learned to ignore the rude comments about him, and these had multiplied during his work. He wasn't surprised at all. He appeared so suddenly, he looked like a million dollars, because what he had left after Andrés after years spent with him was a sense of style, he knew about his work and there was no need to implement him in complicated calculations and advanced technical drawings, he would drive up an expensive, brand new car in front of the company's building. At the beginning there were speculations that maybe he is someone from the family and he got a job just like that, because the boss never called him per “Sir”, but the rumor quickly died down. At one point they called him "chef's favorite", but they also got bored when he did not react to the taunts. There were insults, as one of the most indignant employees had announced that Martín was fucking with his boss. The brave ones tried to spit in his face. "There's no place for savages here, twat." Martín ignored it. Soon he replied calmly that so far he is the only civilized person in this company. After that it started to calm down. He heard whispers behind his back, which was immediately quieting down as soon as he turned around.

He was already getting ready to leave the office building. He was rolling up the final plans spread all over the desk and putting them in the black tube. He had the last few orders to take with him. He had to make a lot of corrections in one of them, others to start all over again, but in fact he might have found today a good day. Most of his projects have been approved by the management and will soon be forwarded to contractors. Once in the doorway, he gave his office one last look before pushing the handle and stepping out into the hallway. Without saying much goodbye to anyone, he went down to the parking lot. Returning to his apartment, he was going to do some quick shopping in a nearby supermarket. He knew that while he didn't have to pamper himself, Ingo wouldn't be pleased when Martín returned empty-handed. The kitten has already got used to the fact that his favorite human will always bring him a treat, especially when he does not come back for a long time. Ingo would prefer Martín to stay at home, because as soon as he realizes he is alone, he starts calling for him at the door. This time was no different. Martín parked the black Infiniti in front of the apartment building, scooped up all the things from the seats, and entered the staircase. As soon as the elevator doors parted on his floor, he heard a pitiful wail from down the hall. The Ingeniero was an extremely loud cat because he couldn't hear himself meowing. With a smile on his face, Martín turned the corner walking down the dark corridor towards his apartment, but as soon as he saw the figure standing by the door, his expression went completely blank. The tall man stood with his back to him, leaning awkwardly. From his stature, Martín recognized his unexpected visitor almost immediately. Hijo de puta. He sighed heavily, adjusted the plan tubes that were falling from under his armpit, and gripped the heavy paper shopping bags tighter. The silence in the empty hallway was only disturbed by his derby shoes, tapping against the floor. As he came closer, an even louder meow came from behind the apartment door. Ingo already knew there was someone at the door he knew.

"Of all the people in the world, I did not expect you the most," he said first, searching in the bag slung over his shoulder for the keys to the apartment, having put his purchases and plans under his feet. “What can I say. Recently, I don't even expect death knocking on my door. I'm too tired to deal with your shit today” he tossed over his shoulder, finally turning the lock and opening the door.

White furry animal sat in a corner, waiting, until he would see a familiar face. When Martín looked inside, the kitten jumped to its paws, tail raised high, pleased with his return. He trudged farther into the apartment, meowing, but returned quickly to the door, not seeing Martín following him. The man quickly gathered himself on the threshold and entered the apartment, greeting the pet. He was talking to him as if he expected the cat to answer him. In fact, he did his best to ignore Sergio.

"I know I have no right to show up after what I said, but we need to talk," said the uninvited guest, straightening his glasses on his nose. He dared to look at Martín.

The man before him looked neither alcoholic nor suicidal, much less dead. On the contrary, Martín looked as if a new life had entered him. In an elegant blue shirt and gray fitted pants, he resembled a better version of his former self, his dark blonde hair gleamed with the gel applied in the morning in the light of the setting sun creeping into the living room, not a single strand of hair stuck out from the rest, his skin caught a late-summer tan, taking on a delicate olive shade. This was definitely not the picture Sergio had expected when he came here. He looked around the inside of the apartment. It was nothing like Martín's old place, smoky, messy, smelling of tobacco and alcohol, with empty beer and milk bottles lying on the floor. The only thing taken out of there that Sergio recognized was an old turntable sitting on a black wood TV cabinet. The apartment itself was decorated in a minimalist style, there was not much splendor here. Martín obviously wanted the functionality of the rooms. In the living room, apart from the mentioned earlier cabinet, there was also a wall unit right above the flat-screen TV, and a bookcase for the set right next to it. In the center, in front of a large viewing window with access to the balcony, there was a set of white leatherette seats: a corner sofa, an armchair and a pouffe. He followed Martín and the little animal running after him. The white cat now leapt onto the counter, where Martín was unpacking his groceries and still, painfully meowing, searched the products for his delicacy. The man seemed to ignore his visitor completely, pouring fresh food into his pet's bowl. Only when the white beast, purring loudly, was eating its delicacy that Martín turned to him.

“As you can see, I'm not alone here. Ingeniero is my feline companion,” he said.

"He didn't seem interested in me," Sergio replied. Martín snorted, turning to face the cat. He stroked its head.

“Ingo doesn’t like visitors. Besides, he’s a smart cat and knows which people do not trust” he said bitterly. "But you didn't come here to talk to me about my cat. What did I do to deserve your coming, Sergio” he bowed ridiculously. “The last time we saw each other, I thought you didn't want to know me anymore, and now you are invading me in my apartment. Mirko told you where I live? Because you've been to him, right?” He asked. Sergio nodded, opened his mouth to say something, to explain that Helsinki had never told him his address, but Martín was faster. “We were supposed to stick together, Sergio, you said so yourself. We both grieved after Andrés and then you suddenly broke off our contact because everyone sees me as a traitor. What do you, great Professor, want from me, a merciless murderer? Maybe you wanted to know if I was already dead? Maybe you wanted to finish me off yourself?”

“Martín...”

Martín paused in his monologue for a moment. He wasn't going to continue this conversation and open his wounds again. He learned to live without Andrés and realized that he could never be anything like a brother to Sergio. Why was he here again? All of them had suffered enough. Martín wasn't willing to go back to his past, he had a future ahead of him that had no place for Sergio or his crap. Ingo nudged his elbow with his snout, as he finished eating his portion, now hungry for a human caress. He sat politely on the table, attracting the attention of Martín. He felt his master was not in his usual good mood and wanted to cheer him up. When the man didn't pet him, the cat stood up and began rubbing against his forearm, purring in the process. This kitten had a sixth sense of Martín's moods.

“I know you've had a hard time...”

“You don't know shit, Sergio! Hard?! I was left alone, all alone! I had barely woken up from a coma, I couldn't breathe on my own yet, and I heard from you that we don't know each other anymore! You didn't even tell me if Andrés's body was ever found, and if so, where it was buried so that I could say goodbye to him. You turned away from me and you said we were united by a common tragedy,” Martín said. He tried to keep himself from crying, but the tears began to run down his cheeks on their own. Ingo wailed anxiously at his side now, his two-colored eyes still on him. “You can stick any explanations up your ass that I had Mirko next to me. You knew our relationship broke up a month later. What else should I say?!” he laughed pathetically, wiping his wet cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. “You had been insulting him too! Do you know how many times I cried and got mad at him for not letting me die there?! So you are not the only one. I am sorry that I did not make your biggest dream come true,” he added.

Sergio cleared his throat and wandered about the living room for a moment under Martín's watchful eye. The older man did not know how to explain his presence in the Argentinean's new apartment. He hadn't expected them to meet ever again. First of all, he did not expect his brother to regret their separation so much. Now he is faced with perhaps the most difficult task he has ever faced. He had to tell Martín everything, about finding Andrés alive, about his serious condition, about his illness, because Martín still doesn't know about it. Once at the time Martín had a special place at Andrés' side, Sergio took it away from him with several allusions. He had contributed to their separation, so now he is the one to reconcile them. He didn't blame Martín for not being welcome here, he would have reacted that way himself if someone had treated him like that. Perhaps it was not in place to speculate that Martín was already dead, or at least suicidal, an alcoholic and depressed, the wreckage of a man, a shadow of himself. He was surprised, no, he was glad that despite the hard times that this man had experienced before and after the attack, he managed to build himself a pretty nice nest. A bit irresponsible, because in Palermo, where he could be easily captured, but it was probably meant to be. He was guessing that Martín had started a new life with a Mirko’s help. He’s a great guy and Martín doesn’t deserve him. It was good that they both understood it in time. Not that Sergio wished Martín someone terrible for his partner, absolutely not, or that his life was forever strewn with thorns instead of rose petals. He is not that badly disposed towards the Argentinean. He has some reservations about his person, let’s say. But Andrés…

“Martín, you'd rather kick me out of your apartment, I understand you, but I'd like you to listen to me. Could we please sit down?” he suggested. His legs had started to ache from standing out in the hallway for the last two hours, and Martín's consent would have been a godsend for him, but Martín only shrugged, still leaning against the kitchen counter.

“You can sit down, brother. I will stay, I was sitting at my desk all day. If it weren't for your visit, I would have just gone jogging,” he replied coldly, nodding at the white corner. “Sit down, make yourself at home,” he urged.

Sergio took his place quite uneasily on the large sofa, staring from Martín to his cat, who was staring at him back as intensely as if it was peering into his soul. Damn, who knows if that white ball of fur has been raised in hellish lineage, and its sweetness is just a cover so no one will realize it's a demon hunting souls like Sergio’s one. Ingo, however, only hissed at him, losing all interest in him before Sergio lost his soul.

“Will I finally find out what's going on?” Martín turned impatiently on his heel and began to bustle about the kitchen, hiding the purchased items in the cupboards and refrigerator. If Sergio takes his time with his storytelling, at least Martín will use this time to do something useful.

“How to start...” sighed the older man. “I will not hide that I wasn’t planning to meet you again, if it wasn’t for a small twist. I have wondered very often why I never found Andrés's body, and thought it might have been taken somewhere and secretly buried. It turned out that the truth is slightly different. The body has never been found because Andrés is alive, Martín,” he said calmly, folding his hands in a pyramid.

Martin had to grab a bottle of juice harder to not accidentally let go of his hands. He put it back in the cupboard immediately, preventing it from falling unexpectedly. He took a deep breath and braced himself to not show Sergio how this news affected him. He tried to keep a straight face and seem completely disinterested, but deep down in his heart something has stirred. Andrés, his Andrés. What was happening to him all these years? For the last five years, everyone thinks he's dead. But Martín cannot show that it somehow touched him. His life is about to get back on track. He promised himself no returns to the past, and yet he felt a familiar feeling warming his interior. As if the old spark of love had re-ignited with living fire.

“Sergio, I'm sorry, but five years had passed, it is impossible for him to be alive. If you came here to talk some bullshits, you might as well leave now,” he replied. This was how he always explained it to himself when new theories were born in his head. One century of crap.

“Andrés is alive, I’m not making things up. I have seen him, I have talked to him...”

“When? When did you find out about him” he demanded, interrupting Sergio. He couldn’t stop himself. He just hoped it didn't sound too urgent, too agitated.

But how could he react differently? Even if he knew that it was not entirely healthy for him, that Andrés would still make him live in a toxic relationship, where one would throw himself under the train and the other would encourage him to do so, that he would love him unconditionally again just to soon be a witness at the Andrés’s wedding. But Andrés was and still is the greatest love of his life. Martín had other men, that is beyond question. When he was young, he often dated different guys, even if it was nothing permanent. He was handsome and flirty, he is still only richer in maturity and constancy in affection, so he had two or three partners with whom he formed a relationship, and it was quite successful, but it all came down to one. He couldn't love them the way he loved Andrés, and he felt bad to see that the others had some serious intentions towards him and he couldn't love them back. Andrés was still in his head.

He always laughed at love at first sight, but he stopped laughing when it touched him, an unrequited one. He was in love with Andrés from the very first second of their first meeting. He could have sworn he was on fire right away when he saw a slightly older, very elegant gentleman among the other gray faces. At that time, he was an exchange student in Berlin, he was just finishing his last year of studies and decided to visit the Berlin Philharmonic, a gem among the local architecture. He stood in a side box, admiring the artistry of the orchestra and the high ceilings of the hall. He came here for the architecture itself, beautiful finishes, rich ornaments, chic designs. He had stayed for the mysterious man in the VIP lounge, glancing at him casually, and for the music that was now playing in the room. Sensual in itself "Libertango" arranged by a Berlin orchestra. His beloved tango in the most beautiful philharmonic hall and in the most beautiful interpretation. He looked back once more, it was stronger than him. His gaze met that of the handsome man at the top of the room. The cool blue of his eyes mixed with the warm brown of the man’s eyes. Martín, emboldened by this contact, gave him a charming smile. To his surprise, the dark-haired reciprocated it almost immediately, captivating young Martín with a feisty half-smile. By the time the music stopped, the gentleman was on his way toward him. Martín's heart beat faster. Is it really appropriate to do it in such an outstanding philharmonic hall? He didn't think anyone had ever responded to his advances so quickly, but was he to back out now? Now, with his object of sighs just over five meters from him? They continued to stare at each other as if breaking this contact would prevent the man from finding the young Argentinian in the crowd. When Martín realized this, he turned his head sharply. A little late, because he felt foreign hands on his waist. The eyes of his imaginary were already forming images of intertwined bodies and hot kisses. Naively, he wished it was more than a fleeting affair. A pink blush crept across his cheeks and showed sudden shyness. "Sorry for my directness, but you are the one I have been looking for a long time." Martín was captivated by these first words. With these first words, Andrés ensnared him forever. He fell in love. At first sight.

“Since when, Sergio?” Tears streamed down his cheeks again, carving newer and newer paths in his face. If Andrés had been here, it would have been their fifteenth year together. My God, it's longer than all the marriages and relationships that Andrés and Martín have gone through.

“Two months after the heist. I’m sorry...”

“Two months?! You've known about him for over a year and you’re telling me about it just now?!” he exploded. Disbelief! He knew perfectly well how much Andrés meant to him, how much he missed him when he found out about his supposed, as it turns out, death, but told him nothing. “You’re coming here after a year and you think that it should interest me?! Andrés is dead to me, he doesn't mean anything to me,” he pouted, the words struggling to pass through his throat and hurting, even though he didn't mean it seriously. Andrés always meant a lot to him.

"Martín, he needs you ..." Sergio tried to argue. He still didn't understand why it’s Martín who Andrés needed the most. Why was his family not enough for him? Brother, future sister-in-law, even Ellen were with him and kept him company, but he was still missing Martín.

“He needs me… Where was he when I needed him? Forgive me, Sergio, but I’m not doing it all over again,” he replied. What else to do? He isn’t going to throw himself at Sergio with joy thanking him for bringing such great news. But Sergio was still not letting go. “Why? Why does he suddenly need me? He has functioned somehow without me this year,” he snarled. The Spaniard adjusted his glasses, glanced at him briefly. It won't be easy for him to tell. He should have learned this from Andrés's lips, experience had taught him not to mediate in their private affairs.

"Andrés is sick, terminally and incurable, or so doctors said four years ago," he began to explain. Martín suddenly froze in place. Disease. He didn't tell him anything. He walked over to the armchair across from Sergio and sank helplessly into it. “Helmer's myopathy. Inherited in the genes from his mother. We found a clinic that treats muscle atrophy with experimental drugs,” Sergio continued while the Argentinian stared at him speechless. What is he talking to him about?

“You’re joking, right?” Martín asked, overwhelmed by the sudden news.

If Andrés was ill four years ago, it means that when he said goodbye to him, he knew about his illness very well. They were so close to each other and yet he had never told him he was terminally ill. He bathed his eyes with the promise of a reunion, knowing it would never happen, and Martín waited naively. He threw himself in front of the police, he died like a hero, because he could not bear the pain of the disease. He has separated them, and now expects Martín to be with him as before. Why now?

“I was with him longer than any of his ladies, I put up with all his hilarious moments, and I guess they knew who they were with. With a guy who will die in a few years and leave them all his fortune. And no, Sergio, don't think I'm angry about Andrés' money, that I wanted his inheritance.” he stuck a finger at him, anticipating any accusations by the man. He did not hide his dislike for him, it was also Martín who realized that he was not liked in the de Fonnollosa family. Dread to think what he would have been going through if their parents were alive. “I'm angry because some chick knew about his illness, but his, it seemed, friend was green on this subject. He trusted someone who would leave him after three months, but he didn't trust someone who valued him above his own life,” he said bitterly. He felt compared to these insignificant women, perhaps even humiliated.

“Andrés has been through a lot, is in a serious condition, refuses to take medication, despite the fact that the therapy is effective. Martín, I know that he is not indifferent to you,” Sergio said. Whether he wanted it or not, Martín was his last resort. If not Martín, no one else will be able to convince Andrés. He had to persuade the man to go with him, but he was still stubbornly refusing.

“Why? Because Andrés is afraid of being left alone with the disease? I don't give a shit about what has happened to him since your mint heist. He cut himself off from me, showed me how much I meant to him. And you? Sergio, you are no better,” he accused. “A fucking hypocrite! Remember when I was a threat to your plan?! Remember when you said love doesn't come with heists?! Me and Andrés complemented each other, we were perfect together, but you found my "emotional baggage" disturbing. Speak of which, how’s the Raquel?! Are you doing well together? At least you had her when you lost Andrés. I was left with nothing. Forgotten because you came to me after three years only because some kid got caught by the police and you needed my plan! Somehow it wasn't suicide then! For another year, I lived with the knowledge that Andrés was dead, I had already forgotten about him, and you come to me here because you can't cope with your sick brother.”

“You know it’s not like that. You are the only one who has any influence on him. He misses you,” confessed Sergio reluctantly. Martín just laughed. Andrés misses him. Good joke. “I'd like you to come back to Spain with me. Your presence will lift his spirits...”

Someone seems to have completely lost their mind here. Does Sergio really think Martín will drop everything and go with him to Andrés? Well, old Martín would do it. Heedless of anything, he would take a plane to see his beloved. The problem is that that Martín no longer exists, that Martín died under the rubble of the bank. The one Mirko carried out of the ruins on his arms wasn't going to be Andrés's dog. Ingeniero had already started circling beside Martín, unhappy that the man wasn't paying attention to him. He jumped into the armchair and onto the Argentinean lap, settling there. He looked at Sergio indifferently, then curled up into a ball and went to sleep.

"Absolutely not," Martín replied after a long silence, stroking the purring kitten's back. "I'm not going to expose Ingo to the stress of changing the environment and I'm not leaving a deaf cat completely alone in the apartment," he rationed. Of course, the cat wasn't the only reason. He didn't want to fail his job now, he wasn't going to face his past anew. Andrés should have been forgotten long time ago.

Sergio was analyzing Martín's words now, his eyes fixed on the white fur. He frowned as he considered something. The Argentine expected some more sensible answer from him than his strange expressions. He was about to say something more, but the older man let out a voice.

“Your cat is deaf? But you were talking to it” he blurted out. Really, had he been contemplating this so long? Martín rolled his eyes. He thought Sergio was the smartest of them all, or so he was. “What for? It doesn’t hear you,” he muttered under his breath.

Martín felt doubly offended on behalf of himself and on behalf of his cat. Ingo's deafness doesn't make him completely stupid. It performs very well in familiar surroundings and recognizes vibrations even if it cannot hear the correct sound. Martín had taught them both a special code, a system of various scrapes, knocks and tapping against the floor, an attempt to attract attention using the senses of sight and smell. Both Ingo and Martín felt very comfortable in it, no one else knew this secret code, so Martín could not imagine leaving him alone or with anyone else. But, contrary to appearances, life with a deaf cat is not difficult in any way. Although he needed a lot of patience and a lot of time spent together to achieve what they have today, it taught him responsibility and care for this little one. Not that he wasn't responsible earlier. With him, he learned a slightly different definition of responsibility. He didn't like Sergio's assumption, and if he were to judge how well he would do as a cat handler, he would find him sucks.

"Of course I did! Every cat is spoken to! It's like saying now what you're talking to a hearing cat for. He doesn't understand you anyway. He only recognizes specific sounds and identifies them with the emotions and situations he is in," he retorted.

What is this nonsense! Why wouldn't he talk to his cat?! Sergio shrugged. He wasn't here to discuss deaf cats, he just wanted Martín to agree to visit Andrés. He would be lying to say that he expected his resistance. The two were very close to each other. He thought Martín would be more moved to learn about Andrés. Either there really was no more room for him in Martín's life, or Martín was pretending being this mean. On the other hand, Sergio would not be surprised if the Argentine would rather not have much in common with his brother. But he hoped Martín would change his mind. So he left his phone number when he left the apartment. The younger one promised that he would never call.

Meanwhile, only a week later, he boarded a plane. Certainly Ingeniero will take offense at him for being absent for so long. Martín left him in the apartment, but his neighbor promised to look after him. He could not predict the day of his return, although he did not conceal that he would rather settle this matter as soon as possible. At work, he said that he needed a few days off, that he was going to visit his family on an important matter. Several of his associates took advantage of this to shout after him, "Go back to your jungle." A herd of chimpanzees, among which Martín felt like the only human on earth. They didn't know one thing. That instead of going to Argentina, he flies quite close, at Costa Blanca. However, he reserved the right to return faster, even if Andrés' condition was very bad. He wasn't going to care about the man who broke his heart. He said so when the plane began to taxi down the runway to take off soon. He did not know the condition of his former beloved, it was easy for him to say that. How he was wrong he was to understand after arriving in Spain.


	6. Open Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martín is not convinced he's doing the right thing. His arrival to Los Alcazares will bring back the past. And he's not ready. Sergio in the meantime believes that Martín will help his brother. Does he though? Does their goodbye wasn't too painful to put it aside and behave like it was not a big deal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, God, it was a long month. It's a month, isn't it? I feel obligated to apologise for such a big delay. Anyway, I managed to translate the chapter and update the story. Feel free to point me out my mistakes. Hope you enjoy, with love, Malibu.
> 
> PS. I would like to thank all of you for reading, for kudos and of course for comments. You're my biggest motivation thank to which I'm posting this chapter today.

At the airport he was immediately kidnapped by Sergio, got thrown to his car with his own luggage. He only took one glance of Alcazar's airport. Frankly, he was hoping for a quick trip around the town, at least for the fast-food, but it turned out Sergio was waitng for him practically outside the plane. Like he was afraid Martín would get his ass in gear, run away from the airport and deep into Spain or even futher far from Europe. He could've put him on a leash. For the assurance the doggy Berrote wouldn't get far from his owner, he wouldn't get this silly idea to escape. Martín just rolled his eyes. He sat down meekly in the passenger seat, putting his temple against the window. If not Sergio, he would be sketching his plans right now or playing with Ingo, well, maybe he would even meet some handsome guy and have fun with him. Oh, how long was from the last time he did it? After his breakup with Mirko he had refused himself any one night stands. He wasn't keen of them anymore, he didn't want to hurt another innocent soul. He himself doesn't feel good doing it. He would like to settle down, have a real relationship but Andrés.  _ Puta madre. _ He sighed heavily, earning a glare from Sergio. "Am I boring you?" Actually, yes, Sergio. He was bothering him nearly an hour now, talking constantly the same over and over again and Martín didn't really want to hear it. About Andrés's longing for him. Great, but he was the one who cut them down. About Andrés's depression. Sweet, why should Martín care? Oh yeah, he was his friend.  _ Exactamente _ . He was. Who is he now? A nurse? A therapist? A psychiatrist? No, not at all. Now he is only a nobody.  _ Fucking nobody _ .

“I know it’s extremely hard for you but at least pretend you’re still having good relations with each other. He needs your support. He’s in really bad condition. He is refusing to take his medications for a week now. He’s not eating, not talking, not coming out of his room. I was thinking maybe you would have some effect on him. You always had the impact on him. He was listening to you” Sergio kept mumbling.

“Shut your fucking mouth, Sergio. I’m listening to this shit for sixty eight minutes. Over and over again the same” interjected Martín. “You driving me nuts! I don’t know what’s worst! You’re bullshitting or this fucking CD, which is playing in repeat for the third time already!” He pointed at the radio in which there was playing The Who and nothing else. It’s official. He lost his nerves. Sergio would just come and mess everything up. Their whole family can only mess Martín’s life up, headed by his lovely older brother.

“Please, Martín, watch your profanity” said Sergio grimacing at Martín’s language. “I can turn off the music, if you want me to...”

“I shit on your music! Just shut the fuck up!” he exclaimed.

The radio has stopped playing anyway. The only sound anyhow disturbing the silence in the grey Jeep was the roar of it's engine and air conditioning. Neither Martín nor Sergio said anything else. Martín because he was not in a mood for the pseudofriendly talk with a younger brother of his beloved. Sergio because he was not to provoke the Devil sitting beside him. It was only a matter of time when he would develop two twisted horns. Sergio had always known that with this seemingly clever, and kind, and cultured, and loveable guy is something odd. He had to be psychotic. There's no perfect man, and certainly he is not Martín. He's just a weirdo. He was letting Andrés do everything he pleased with him, he planned every detail of the bank heist having considered he would die there. He was so cranked up on Andrés it's fear to think what would happen if something had gone wrong. It sent shivers down his spine. What if this guy would pull out the knife anytime soon and stab him with it? He would stab him to death before they would get to Los Alcazares! Since he's not caring about his life, he could do it right now on the highway. Kill the driver of the car rushing hundred eighty kilometers per hour. He seemed so tense it revolved Martín's burst of laugh. But stubbornly he didn't say anything.

His tongue was only loosened after he arrived at Andrés' house. House... He would have been surprised if Andrés had been living in a small cottage house, just for the two people. No. He had to have a villa for the whole royal court as if he was going to throw a ball for the whole town. Fucking count Monte Christo. Oh, what would Martín give to be his Mercedes; the biggest love of his life. Meanwhile, a real Mercedes just came out from this beautiful mansion on the Costa Blanca. How nice, another surprise was waiting for Martín to find out 'cause Sergio wasn't so kind to tell him about her. Well, nothing new really. If he was displeased earlier about his coming here, now he is pissed off. He was standing to the side and staring as a stranger was welcoming Sergio, hugging him and kissing his cheek whispering some kind of thanking. Before they had entered a living room Martín was obstinately avoiding her, he passed her like she's not existing but when they ended up face to face, all alone in the hall, it started to be a little awkward. Further denying her existence was out of a place already.

“It’s not easy for you to be here, I know” she said suddenly, disturbing Martín’s thoughts racing through his head about how stunning was the combination of beige decorative stone and white paint on the hall’s wall. Does she even know what she is talking about? “May I suggest you a coffee? I think a talk would be favorable for both of us” she claimed.

The girl didn’t even introduce herself nor wait for his approval. She dissappeared in the kitchen without another word. What was his chance she’s not trying to poison him? One of Andrés’s ladies had tried that before! Anastasia was so jealous and so crazy about Andrés that it cost Martín his previously eaten dinner. He ended up in hospital for gastric lavage after her attempt to be kind and serve Martín a coffee. She added some kind of chemical substance to it and if not a fast Andrés’s reaction he would kick the bucket! History repeats itself. They could want to poison him this time too. Maybe that’s what she was thanking Sergio for. For bringing him here so she can kill him using diarsene trioxide. He was wandering around the vestibule trying to calculate his chances to survive in this house. When his results escalated to twenty percent, what was a good enough result, she came back from the kitchen. The mysterious girl invited him to the living room and he followed her deciding to stay in his oxfords. He glanced at her carrying with grace two cups decorated exquisitely by whipped cream and coffee shrims. She was smiling very subtly, almost invisibly. She was pretty, definitely a type Andrés would go for. Petite, cute, young. His guesswork was rather justified.

“I didn’t know Andrés had a wife” he mumbled, doing his best to not sound very dry, disappointed even. Well, at least he was trying. The sadness and reproof in his voice was a clear indication of how he really felt.

But the woman just laughed at him. She put the cups on the coffee table and tossed her black hair back. She put her hands on her hips amused. She kinda looked like him right now. Pugnacious and confident.

“You’re funny. Sergio had said the same when we first met” she explained the reason for her laugh. “I am not his wife, Martín, I’m his nurse. Ellen, by the way, Sergio didn’t introduce us properly earlier.” She gave him her petite hand. And, what’s even weirder, Martín shook it without second thought. There was something in her he grew fond of her.

“As I can see I’m not a stranger to this house” he said without really saying his name. There was no need for it.

“Well, there’s no picture without you in this house and Andrés never talks about anyone else but you” she explained further with a smile on her face. It didn’t disappear even when she finally turned away from him to point him at the shelf above the fireplace.

Martín looked at the shelf she was mentioning discovering there a familiar face. His own face. Formerly in those frames were pictures of Tatianna and Andrés. He moved closer, not sure if it’s real. He had to touch them, feel the wood under his fingertips, see them up close. He remembered this picture. In their very first years Martín wasn’t going anywhere without his camera. After all he was just a tourist in Europe, the outsider. He couldn’t afford to travel a lot so he was taking pictures at every turn across the new city considering he would never come here again. He was capturing every minute spent with Andrés. Every picture landed in both his and Andrés’s albums. The passion for photography was quickly developed by Andrés. He claimed he became a fan of expressionism and it was best seen across Martín’s face, his happiness, his excitement, his radiance. But Andrés was becoming a fan of something new every week, he was bored quickly, he was finding a new fascinated trend quickly, new hobby too. And photography seemed to be a constant in his life brought by Argentine. Now every one and each of those memories were trapped on the pictures, in the wooden frames, in four walls of the spacious living room. Martín, a horror, was having tears in his eyes. Sergio was mentioning Andrés still remembers him, yes, but he was thinking it was just a scam. He had to see it, feel it, touch, collide with the reality to understand how high he was put on Andrés’s hierarchy. On the fucking pedestal. In the first place.

“Do not think I’m doing it to break you, to be mean to you. I just wanted… I thought it would help you understand how bad Andrés needs you right now” said  Ellen  materializing beside Martín who’s wandering across the room, trying to hold back his tears.

Even white walls were covered in his pictures. Nearly each one of them scaled to a larger size. They must have been developed after their partaway. He didn’t quite remember these pictures were ever this big. It was first room in this villa and Martín has been already thinking “it’s some kind of fucking obsession”.

“I have thought the same when he was framing them here. At that time he was able to get up from his bed” she spoke again. Martín glanced at her surprised. Is she reading his mind or did he say it out loud?

When he brushed his fingers across the latest photo, they sat down for the coffee. Ellen was telling him how Andrés copes with his disease. Everything from the very beginning, how Martín was his only hope, only thought. From the hospital in which they hardly managed to keep Andrés alive, to this day when he lost his hopes for the treatment. And it all started to fall apart after he reminded himself what had he done to Martín. The awareness he broke their friendship to pieces and it’s very unlikely he would ever see Martín again. Until his hurtful death. She was talking about Sergio that from the time he found out about his brother he’s trying to be there for him every possible minute, either alone or with Raquel and her family. She was not trying to defend him though. She made it clear, as far as Sergio was a kind, smart and sometimes shy guy, in the matters of the heart of his brother he was, for the lack of better word, dumb. Her words, not Martín. To the matter of the fact, it was at the moment he knew he liked her and after having a delightful coffee they became almost friends, good acquaintances, that’s for sure. The girl convinced him to tell her something about Andrés from his point of view, what was he like, what was he passionate about. Just to get him used to what he would see upstairs.

In the meantime Sergio came back. He silently sat down beside Ellen far from her trying to disappear in cushions. Martín, encouraged by Ellen’s hand gesture, kept telling her his story. The one about a certain trip with Andrés. About sunny french coasts, about Andrés’s delight with how romantic the place was, about his promise one day he would take here his one and only for the honeymoon. He glanced at Sergio and added it never really happenned. None of his women have been taken there, just Martín. Ellen turned out to be a good listener. She was actively taking part in a conversation, sometimes discussion. It was easy, easier than Martín thought, for them to befriend. The anger and distaste were long gone, forgotten but he still did not see Andrés. Sergio was with him but as he came back, he didn’t say a word about his brother. He was sitting there looking pale as a ghost, stressed and anxcious. He is stressed, so how was Martín supposed to feel.

Being led to Andrés’s bedroom he put on his arrogant mask of an asshole. He couldn’t let Andrés manipulate him once again, show him he has the same effects he had always had on Martín. Andrés brainwashed everyone around him, everyone thought he’s longing for Martín but the Argentine wasn’t so naive as he was before. He’s not going to make the same mistake. He trusted him once and got his heart ripped out of his chest and now this man thinks he can do with him anything he wants. Martín already cursed him in his mind, he coudn’t wait to say it to his face. The new Martín has been born! But he didn’t know yet the new Martín meant new Andrés. During their first reunion were present Ellen and Sergio and that was enough to hold Martín’s horses to throw  _ “Tú hijo de puta!” _ at the doorway. But not only this. As the door had come opened he got struck by the view before him. His anger disappeared as something hard to swallow settled against his throat, something tight was smothering his heart. He felt nauseous, ready to throw up. Andrés, always a strong, elegant, beautiful and powerful man in expensive suits, was lying in bed in soft blue pajamas under the thin blanket. Around him were thrown photos. Martín will go crazy from them, he swears. He is having enough of looking at himself from the old days. The elder of the men didn’t even react when somebody entered his bedroom without knocking beforehand. Normally he would be lecturing about good maniers and savour-vivre and now? He didn’t even blinked his eyes. He was lying still in his bed, not a single move, nor word, nor anything. He was staring blantly at the wall across the bed, a photo in his inert hand. Martín looked over his shoulder at Ellen who just shruged her arms. “Told ya”. He stepped into the room, stood closer to the bed trying to reach Andrés with his hand. Andrés was visibly thinner, skin and bones honestly, he has a disgusting scar on his cheek which Martín hadn’t seen before, his stuble should have been shaved and his hair cut a long time ago. He was horribly pale, weak and tired. His wrinkles and bags under his eyes were starting to show up. The corners of his mouth were bent into a sad bow. He was clearly not pretending his sickness. His hands were trembling and so was the photo between his fingers. Hell, if Martín would touch him now, Andrés would fall apart like a just glued vase. He was so fragile, Martín withdrawn his hand and put it inside his pocket.

“ _ Hola, Andrés... _ ” he whispered. The dead silence responded to him. He was not counting that hoarse breath Andrés was exhaling.

The Spaniard didn’t react to his presence, and that was the most expected scenario of Sergio’s mind. Now he just lost his hopes anything would help his brother not to fall into the depths of depression. Andrés was behaving as though Martín was just a vision of his imagination, as though the single blink of his eyes would cause Martín to disappear into the thin air. Maybe he really thought he’s going insane. He stayed in bed long enough to start hallucinating. Martín was thinking he would only pretend to be worried about him but it turned out that was not necessary. Just thinking about the hell Andrés is coming through was making his heart was racing inside his body. He stepped just a little bit closer, he tried to sit down on the bed, but every inch of it was covered by the pictures, their picture, them together. There was no place for him. He tried to find any memory of Tatianna, she was the one Andrés claimed to love the most, but she wasn’t there. On Andrés’s finger wasn’t a single trace of his ring. It was only the two of them as if Martín was the closest to Andrés his whole life, as if there were no women, but Martín. So he picked up some of the pictures and put them aside on the bedside table, steeling quick glances at each one.

“I was always thinking you had thrown those pictures away” he admitted. “I’m sure Sergio has told you I’m living in Palermo now. My little dream came true, at least a half of it” he kept going expecting some reaction.

He looked over the duet standing in the doorway. Sergio was akwardly shuffling from side to side looking similar to the penguin right now. He cleared his throat silently. Martín saw the younger brother of his beloved left without further plan. He sighed and turned to Andrés. He reached for the picture in Spaniard’s hand.

“May I take it?” he asked, slowly sliding it out his fingers. It was the one Andrés likes the most. Their first visit to Palermo. He smiled at that memory, it was the best memory he could remember. “We will clean up a little, no, Andrés?” He began to pick up the rest of the photos.

Andrés wasn’t giving him any signs of life. Martín threw a quick glance at his chest and squeezed his wrist finding his pulse point. He felt the blood rushing slowly through Andrés’s veins, heard his painful and shallow breaths, saw the chest rising and falling over and over again. So he just seemed to be dead. But it didn’t make him feel any better. He was looking from time to time over at Andrés’s face when he was reaching for another picture. He knew Andrés could hear him but didn’t know why he’s ignoring him. They decided he needs time to understand Martín is really here. The days have passed and nothing has changed. Andrés was still denying to eat even if it was Martín who had brought meals, he was laying in his bed despite the constant presence of Martín, he wasn’t answering any questions although it was Martín who asked them. He was for him like an illusion. Despite him changing his bedding, changing his diapers for fuck sake, cleaning him with a wet towel and massaging every muscle of his stiff body.

“From the way Andrés was talking about you you must have been very close to his heart. Like an anchor deep into the ocean” said  Ellen  one day. They were sitting around the table eating breakfast; Martín was brewing himself a coffee. “I was thinking maybe you’re siblings. How long were you in love with him?” she asked. Martín was tempted to tell her that curiosity kills the cat but he just fixed her with a glare. Well, at least she said it in the past tense.

“It will sound very sappy but it was love from first sight. From the moment we found each other in the crowd of people. It stayed like that to...”  _ this day _ he was trying to say. “...until that fatal night”

He didn’t want to play it over again in his mind, go further into the secrets of their friendship. Ellen has already known enough, still she wanted to know even more. She was asking him personal questions which were very awkward for Martín to answer so his natural instinct was to run away from her just after they had finished their breakfast. She stopped him, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Wait here”. She disappeared for literally two minutes. She came back holding something in her hand. A small, square box which she put right in front of him.

“There was a time when Andrés told me it’s for the most precious person in his life and when they came to him he would give it to them. When things have gotten complicated and he hasn’t been able to get up from his bed he asked me to take it and give it to them, I would know who to give it” she explained sitting opossite him. “Open it!” she hurried him. 

Martín opened the lid of the box carefully afraid of what might be inside. At first he thought it’s a simple gold bar but then he noticed a small black onyx melt into the golden plate and a gold chain. He took the necklace between his fingers. Andrés had never ever given him any jewellery, he knew Martín wore anything but watches. So he placed the necklace back on its soft pillow in the box, closed the lid and put it away. He shook his head. “It’s certainly not for me. I’m not wearing jewellery”. Ellen just smiled at him amused by his denial. She opened the box and turned the plate around.  _ “Eres mi alma gemela cien por ciento” _ . The engraving was clearly indicating who is the real recipient but he still did not want to believe. Sure, he remembered that talk, memories still vivid inside his head, they were soulmates, Andrés had claimed, but only in ninety nine percent. Now he’s saying to him the tiny mitochondria has changed it’s mind. Martín was declining to wear the necklace, refusing to take it. He had never worn necklaces and he will never start wearing them. However two days later the golden bar found it’s plate on Martín’s neck.

Not sure why, its presence had some magical effect on Andrés. Martín felt like a wizard or a fortune-teller waving the magic pendulum before his face to put him out of his hypnosis. He was tweaking the pillows bent over his weak body when his necklace slipped out from under his shirt without his acknowledge. Andrés’s sudden reaction nearly scared Argentine to death, he grabbed his wrist when he started to pull away. It wasn’t a very strong grip but still a frightened man gasped in surprise. The Spaniard took advantage of his shock and took the golden bar in between his trembling fingers. For some reason it resulted in a smile on his face. He didn’t know why, didn’t even ask but he was grateful to this trinket it has helped Andrés to open up. From now on it would be easier to communicate with him, to convince him to continue his treatment and, even if Martín had to be constantly by Andrés’s side to assure him he’s really here, day after day the therapy started to bear fruit. He didn’t really count for the sudden recovery. Andrés was still lying in bed but at least he's started to cooperate. Very often with no one else but Martín. And that was the whole problem. Andrés was behaving as if nothing bad had ever happened between them. It was only hurting Martín even more, their goodbye meant a broken heart for Martín. He was trying to play along for Andrés’s sake trying to forget their kiss had ever had place. He didn’t know it was not only painful for him but for Andrés too. He saw how distant Martín has become.

From the time of his arrival he was avoiding sleeping in the guest rooms. He rather slept on the couch in the living room than anywhere else. According to his own request Ellen has prepared him a fresh bedding this morning. He was folding out the couch when heard the soft knocking on the wooden doorframe.

“You didn’t have to fold out the couch, you know? You could’ve lay with me as before”  spoke  Andrés up with his raspy voice betraying his weakness. He should stay in bed, why did he even get up?!

Martín bit himself on the tongue to not respond to him too harshly, that nothing will ever be as before between the two of them. Their breakup has changed everything, their kiss has changed everything; Martín’s love and Andrés’s games. For him the kiss could’ve meant nothing but it took Martín to the moon and back. The Argentine turned around slowly taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“I thought you've been sleeping already” he made up. “I can stay with you until you fall asleep though, if you want to of course” he suggested quickly putting on his best smile.

“Martín...” Martín gulped. The way Andrés pronounces his name was always doing weird things to him. “I know you for years. I can see how much of a struggle for you is to be here after what I have done to you. I’ve been a jerk to you but I’ve been thinking it would really do us a favour. I was trying to protect you, I didn’t want you to be disgusted with me, I didn’t want you to leave me. It was easier for me to let go of you first” he began to explain. He scraped the scrub off their wound but who’s here to stop it from bleeding? Martín? Of course he would deal with their bloody scar.

“You’ve known very well I would never leave you” he blurted out. Andrés could go to hell with his inevitable betrayal being a part of love. Martín would never do that to him. “I would be by your side, change diapers, wipe your ass! You’ve been everything to me, Andrés, you’ve been my whole life but you chose to run. It was the only thing you were good at. Runaway. When you’ve already been on shaky ground!” he pointed out.

“I know, I was a coward...”

“Coward?! Oh no, Andrés, you were and you still are a fucking son of a bitch. You’ve known how much you've meant to mean, you gave me everything I have ever dared to desire and you left me with nothing in second! And now I’m here because you’re afraid you would rot forgotten, all alone and you know your naive Tínti will always succumb!” he shouted out. The tears were streaming down his pinky cheeks.

“Martín...” bega n  Andrés but was interrupted by Martín hand held high. He sobbed and quickly covered his mouth with it. He won’t be crying right in front of him, not again. It’s the time to leave the stage, the show is over.

He shook his head in an indication he’s not going to listen to Andrés’s excuses anymore. He left the living room, going past him. He’s going to cry himself to sleep in the bathroom, all by himself. It was a fucking mistake he had come here. Tommorrow morning he’s going to be on his way back to his beloved Palermo, to Ingo, to his work. His role in Los Alcazares has just ended. He played his part, Andrés is taking the medication, Martín is no longer needed here. He grabbed the gold chain ready to tear it from his neck but he only managed to cry out in sorrow. “It’s a gift for the most precious person in his life”. If Martín really is that person to Andrés he would understand why he had to leave.  _ Por la amor. _


	7. I Pledge My Allegience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martín is still unsure of Andrés' honesty; he feels abused by both of brothers, and, even if it's not true, it makes him leave Spain. In the meantime Sergio has to go back to Raquel to help her with preparations to their wedding. It results with Andrés being left alone. But he has a plan... already...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was a long time but I'm back to post another chapter. I swear I wrote another chapters but I'm too slow to translate it in time. Hope there are some people still reading it, hope you'll enjoy. Feel free to comment of course. With all my love, Malibu

It didn’t take him long to figure out what he has to do. He wiped away his tears, a pathetic human being as himself, he managed to come out of the bathroom, praying no one would catch him. That night he will leave Spain. His commitment to Andrés has been fulfilled. Is he walking? Is he taking his drugs? So Martín is no longer needed up here. Well, maybe just for the sake of Ellen, so she could take some days off. He wasn’t mad at her, of course she had her own family and other responsibilities. But Sergio? Martín was really smart, but he couldn’t understand one thing. He was a witness at four of five Andrés’s weddings, he was going with him through endless amount of relationship, sure, women were important at some point,  _ I guess.  _ But Sergio is just playing with him and making him do the work all alone. Of course he flew as soon as Martín has arrived to the Andrés’s house. He has an “important stuff” to take care of. He will go crazy if Martín leaves Andrés alone, but let’s be honest. Did anyone ever think about Martín when he had left alone?

He packed his things; he wanted to leave before Andrés would start looking for him. But as an unlucky man he is he was caught not by Andrés, by Sergio. He was so close to the door, he had the handle in his palm, he had the only chance to run off. And then. Sergio. “What do you think you’re doing?” Martín grimaced at the sound of his voice. When the life gives you a lemon, they say…  _ Mierda.  _ He turned around to face him, throwing his back on the floor. “It’s nothing now, Sergio.” he thought. Sergio was studying him carefully, staring eyes burning holes in Martín’s body. Like he caught him stealing their fifty-inch TV… on his back… on his own.

“You’re going to leave for Palermo? Right now? You want to leave Andrés after what he’s been through?” he asked, making Martín’s blood boil in his veins.

“After what he’s been through? I don’t even know what had happened with him! Besides, I don’t need to be abuse by both of you! You think your wedding with Raquel is so delicious excuse to leave your brother behind?! What kind of an asshole you need to be to this to him after all these years when he was in sorrow and grief after the death of his mother and father and soon be told he has to look after a sick boy who he’s to call his brother?! And now, when he needs you the most you’re going to fly with your bitch to the Maldives instead of looking after him!” he accused unscrupulously. “You think of yourself as an empathic person? I would call you that. Did you ask me how I was doing after I had nearly lost my life in the Bank? Have you ever considered I might be not doing well? Did you know I might be having a glaucoma, and I might be blind very soon? Oh, do not try to answer. I’ll answer for you. You didn’t give a shit about me and my well-being! You just needed me to be a nanny for your brother while you would marry and fuck  _ Inspectora _ !” he added. “You ruined my life! You both had ruined my life, you and your fucking brother! I had to end up alone to understand I didn’t need neither you nor Andrés to succeed in my life! I could’ve stayed in Buenos Aires and be a world famous architect but silly me I fell in love with a criminal and gave up my whole future for him. The thought I was once in love with such a motherfucker make me sick!” These words were choking him, but he kept going, trying to ignore his tears. “I hate you with all my heart! Andrés could want to kill himself now, and I would gladly hand him the knife.  _ Go ahead, stab yourself to death, end your suffering, you little fuck! _ ” screamed Martín with puffed eyes, red cheeks and wet face form his crying. “This son of a bitch had never deserved what I was willing to give him! I regret I had felt in love with such a dick! I don’t give a shit about his depression and disease! Let him die!

Unfortunately for Martín, a part of their argument was heard by Andrés. He wanted to apologise to him; he didn’t want to lose him again. His life without Martín by his side had lost all the colors, and he couldn’t imagine he would spend his last years without him. He has already wasted so much of their time. He thought Martín had forgiven him his absence, his cowardice and runaway, but it was just an illusion. Martín’s looking after him as if he was precious porcelain was an illusion. Illusion he has to forget. He was hiding around the corner outside the kitchen stunned by his words, paralyzed at best. He was aware of Martín’s tears but he wasn’t aware of his own streaming down his face for a few minutes now. He appeared in the hallway when except Martín’s sobs there was a dead silence. Their eyes locked for a moment. A spark of regret flashed in Martín’s look but it was gone the moment he has turned his head away. The Argentinean bend to pick up his bag. “May you die and burn in hell! I hate you, you son of a bitch!” It was his last words he has said to Andrés before he turned around and left the house, slumming the door shut. He didn’t came back tomorrow morning as Andrés was suspecting. He even prepared a breakfast for both of them but was left with one plate too many. Sergio has left to Raquel for wedding preparations. He was afraid how Andrés would deal with his loneliness but he was doing surprisingly fine at least.

Martín’s fury was justified. Andrés always manipulates him, steers him around, plays him like a muppet. But when he had cut the muppet’s links, he didn’t expect it to start live its own life. Martín revived and found his own way through his plays far from Andrés’s stage; the show had finished. He had finally learned it is unapprovable to be dependant on someone. Andrés wasn’t surprised Martín has stopped dancing to his rhythm. He deserves every cruel word, every tear streaming down their faces ever since Martín left the house. But as long as he lives he would do everything he can to earn Martín trust again, to make him happy, make them happy. Now he knows they have to be equal, no more manipulations, no more running in circles, no more lying, no more controlling. Martín is not his slave. Martín was always someone he had valued more than any of his wives, he loved him in a way he hadn’t loved anyone despite the best effort. And if you love someone you want to spend the rest of your life with them, right? You would probably want to get married, plan your wedding. Marriage was the way to declare a love for Andrés. Why know it should be any different?

So he prepared an engagement ring since his gift in form of a necklace Martín had already received from Ellen. It was supposed to be his engagement gift but now he had to come up with something else. The only thing he had to take care of is to bring Martín back to Spain. Of course, Sergio’s wedding was the perfect excuse; even if his brother himself was sceptical, he agreed nonetheless and sent Martín’s invitation. He wasn’t suspecting Martín’s coming. From the whole La Banda he was the least welcomed guest, and there’s not going to be many others friends of newlyweds, mainly Raquel family and her former friends. Andrés, on the other hand, was counting Martín would come, it would be an ideal circumstance to show him how much he meant to him. He was hoping that they would arrive at the wedding together as a couple or more like an accompanying person, but they received whole different invitations, which entitled them to bring with them anyone they want to. Andrés was afraid Martín would come with someone else, his lover, boyfriend maybe. He acknowledged with relief Martín was coming alone, but as if he wanted to avoid Andrés, he will be waiting already at the place where Sergio was to marry Raquel.

The day, when they were supposed to marry, was a sunny Friday. The sun was shining brightly, not a single cloud on a perfectly blue sky, forecasting magnificent weather for the next week. The Maldives was the beautiful islands, a breathtaking place to marry someone you love. This is The Professor’s and Lizbon’s wedding day. Martín is already sick of those weddings. How many times?! This time he won’t be a witness. Frankly at this one he didn’t have to be but it was impolite to turn down the invitation. So he came. Despite that everyone for the heist will be here too. He didn’t expect them to welcome him with their arms open. When he stepped to the garden, their attention was focused at him, not on resurected Berlín anymore, who was tired from the flight and weak from the disease. The loudest from the group was, of course, Tokío. She jumped from her seat, teared her wrist from Río’s hand and went to face Martín. “How dare you came here after what you have done, you sick murderer?!” She slapped him across the face hard enough to bruise his newly shaven cheek. She would hit him one more time if it wasn’t Bogotá, who hold her before she could do anything. “That bastard isn’t worth our time, let it go.” Denver and Stockholm were protecting Cincinnati behind their backs. “We don’t want you near our child, psycho.” Marseille was quiet as usual, he was looking at him blankly with Sofía on his shoulder. Río was afraid to even look, as if Martín would pull out the gun and start shooting. That’s what he did in the bank anyway, no? He shootNairobi, didn’t he? He glanced at Helsinki. The man was sitting beside his fiance, explaining him with calm, who is the newcomer. Andrés, who was sitting at the other end of the table, took the knife and with a surprising force he hammered it into the table top. “Why did you invite him, Sergio?” was the only reaction from Raquel. Martín didn’t even came close to the table. He wasn’t allowed to. Helsinki was trying to turn their attention to the Berlín, and Palermo used this as an opportunity to run away from them as far as he possibly could. He was running until his lungs were burning with a need for the air, with tears streaming down his face, to which he is used by now. They were the only constant in Martín’s life. He didn’t want to stay here, he wanted to go back home, to Ingo. He wanted to forget about all the wrong things that had happened inside the bank. He had enough this shame, this guilt, they didn’t let him live his new life. He ran onto the pier ready to jump into the cold, azure ocean.

Andrés almost immediately noticed Martín’s absence. He was mad at La Banda. He saw how their behavior affected the man. He knew from Sergio about what had happened in the bank, but he was convinced that Martín did the right thing and he wasn’t responsible for Nairobi’s death. They were warning Sergio about Gandía, they were planning to kill him at the very beginning of the heist. Palermo was only trying to take back his power from the hand of an incompetent people, and he did everything he could to reach his goal. It was silly and crazy, but that makes Andrés even more proud. Without a second glance at the people around the table, he went to look for Martín. He was afraid that Martín could hurt himself intentionally; he became suicidal after they had parted ways. He was looking everywhere and still he didn’t find him. The only place he hasn’t check yet was a harbor. A shiver went down his spine as a cold breeze shot through him. The jacket he was wearing wasn’t really helpful. On the pier he noticed a familiar silhouette. Martín was standing there alone, his arms hugging his chest tightly as he shivered from the cold. The blow of the wind was messing his sandy hair and his shirt. When Andrés came closer to him, he turned his head away. His tearful face was shining in the dim light. He was shivering uncontrollably, and Andrés took off his jacket and put it across the younger’s shoulders. Martín wasn’t trying to jerk it off, so the Spaniard without a single word put his arm on his lower back and brought him closer, hugging him, comforting in warmness of his body. Neither of them cared about the salty tears staining Andrés’s shirt, there was just a soft whisper. “I’m with you, it’s going to be alright.” Martín would like to believe that. He would like to believe that Andrés is really here for him. He cuddled closer, holding onto him for dear life as if Andrés was just a dream.

“Martín,” he whispered, pulling away very slowly. He brushed the tears from his cheek with his thumbs. “I know what I’ve done was a cruelty. You can’t imagine how deep I regretted it. I lost everything that ever mattered to me” he said. He had to confess it. Day after day they had less time. “I wasn’t lying when I told you I loved you like I hadn’t love anyone before you. You can think I’m saying this now because I’m afraid to fight my disease alone but it’s true. I loved you, and I still love you more than I could ever admit.”

Martín was looking at him as if he was speaking another language. Did Andrés just confess his love to him? He did it once, and he left him crying under the chapel’s wall. Is he going to do it once again? Andrés was smiling lightly, he wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him closer, hugging him, protecting from the cold air. After another few minutes Argentinean calmed down, he was safe in Andrés’s arms with his jacket on his back. They had to go back to the rest of the group. Andrés’s legs were shaking under his weight, and he would be grateful if he could sit down for a bit. The Spaniard was maneuvering them towards the seats. He glared at anyone who tried to be mean to Martín, a warning. They sat together, arm by arm, Martín was trying to disappear in Andrés’ shadow, hoping to find a support in him. Luckily, the ceremony was about to begin and all of the guests attention was quickly stolen by the couple standing under the wedding arch.

The newlyweds were simply stunning. Even though Sergio was madly stressed and he nearly lost his wedding ring while putting it on Raquel’s finger, he nearly stepped on her beautiful, long, white dress and once Raquel herself nearly knocked off her veil. While everyone was already tearful, Martín stayed untouched. He got used to the touching wedding atmosphere. Andrés has left him in the back all alone, he went to the front to bare witness to his brother’s wedding. However, he could always count on Martín, who was observing him afraid of the sudden relapse of myopathy. The older man was still very weak. After Sergio and Raquel had made their vows, Andrés was slightly anxious, constantly turning around looking for Martín’s presence. So when Argentinean moved to stand beside him, to catch him before his legs would give up under him, Andrés was willing to lean on his slender, smaller but strong frame. Martín had his arm wrapped tightly around Andrés’ slim waist hugging him closely and still managing to look graceful, charming even. Both men were standing right next to Sergio as if they were waiting for their own wedding, for their turn to make vows. What an absurd thought! Martín would never stand on a wedding carpet, not as a groom, and he is getting older. With every year it’s getting harder for him to find himself a lover and to fully please him. There were some men but only for one night, nothing too serious, nothing till the death would do them apart.

After the ceremony they sat at the table for the dinner. Everyone was occupied by either eating politely or talking with the newlyweds. They were ostentatiously avoiding Martín, whose attention was turned towards his grilled salmon and who was now torturing a quarter of a lemon. He wished it would all be finished by now otherwise he would go insane. The buzz at the table didn’t let him to concentrate so when it suddenly stopped he was not wondering about the reason for it, he was simply grateful. However, the silence was deafening and when Martín has lifted his head he noticed that every pair of eyes was starring at him and Andrés. And then he noticed a small box on the table which Andrés put right in front of him. His heart skipped a beat. Inside the box was waiting for him a wide, silver, diamond studded ring. He looked at Andrés surprised and before Andrés had a chance to ask him this question, Martín was already answering. “Unfuckingbelievable!”. He thought Andrés couldn’t humiliate him more but he was so wrong ‘cause now he was compared to Andrés’ ex-wives. Even if Andrés wasn’t trying to hurt him more, he was just doing the same thing he had always done, Martín won’t let him treat him like that. The whispering at the table was getting louder, but Berlín didn’t mind. Palermo has to make him aware of his mistake by himself. He closed the box. He pushed himself off of the table, knocking over his chair, and marched away from the giggling mutual admiration society. It was not only bad timing but also a very bad company. Martín was hoping for the earth to swallow him whole, to just disappear, but Andrés was faster. He grabbed his wrist, not letting him run away too far.

“Are you really that stupid to think engagement ring would fix every problem?! I’m not one of your ladies that would forgive you and suck your dick after you flashed a diamonds in front of her!” he screamed at him. “Think about what do you really want from me. It will be better if we take a break from each other. Too much has happened, I need to make up my mind, Andrés” he added quieter. “Forgive me, but today I’m the one to tell you  _ Adiós, amigo mío.  _ I assure you we will meet again but now we just need some more time” He squeezed Andrés’ trembling hand.

The older man wasn’t trying to pretend he wasn’t surprised. It was the first time he got rejected but what shocked him more was Martín’s strength. He’d changed, he’d became more assertive, more confident. Although Andrés didn’t really took under the consideration Martín would change, it will not stop him from the fight for Martín’s heart. With tears in his eyes he nodded his head. Yes, we need to take a break. Yes, we need some more time. He accepted the fact his favourite  _ ingeniero  _ wants to take care of his job and his architectural designs. He believed Martín would give his patched heart which he destroyed himself with a few words, with one tiny mitochondrion, one percent of his desire forgotten to be multiplied by one hundred. Somewhere in the back of his head he found a date important for both of them. The 7th of July 2009. Berlin. Suddenly it was clear why he chose this city to be his nickname. The beautiful Berlin’s philharmonic, the beautiful argentine tango and the beautiful argentine student in the crowd. His ideal, his perfection, his pride. His Martín. He’s going ti fight for him like a knight would fight for his lady.

Martín on the other hand his departure was considering as some kind of a katharsis. He focused on his job; he could thought over his whole relationship with Andrés. He doubted after how he has been treated, Andrés would want them to stay in touch with anyone form  _ La Banda _ . But Andrés too made it worse with how he humiliated Martín with a so-called proposal. Just the sound of it. A proposal. An absurd. Martín had stayed by his side for a fucking decade, and he hadn’t proposed to him but suddenly on, let’s be honest, his deathbed he wants Martín to be his  _ husband _ . Why now? Now when Martín had finally accepted his fate, his loneliness, his inability to get married? But it somehow wasn’t the problem Martín was facing right now. The problem was how to make Andrés realize that his definition of marriage isn’t worth shit even though he had learned it years before. He can think that  _ oh _ , he knows about love, he has been married five times. Nothing could be more wrong, one would say. Because when Martín was denied to have some feelings, he was the one who loved the most, from the bottom of his rotted heart, he was the one ready to give up his life for his beloved. Because when Andrés was considered to be a true romantic, a gentleman, he was changing his women one after another, leaving them heartbroken, broke to the wide without a second glance. Now Martín is going to show him something he had never experienced from any of his ladies. The essence of true love, which Andrés is to learn by himself. He should have learned it a long time ago but somehow this term was still very unclear to his reasoning. From this day Martín is his teacher. While being with his wives, Andrés has been going on dates out of duty, never really paying too much attention to the preparation. With Martín he started to wonder how he should behave, where to take him, what to prepare. The Argentinean wasn’t expecting him to buy any of the thing his wives were longing for. No exclusive restaurants, no luxurious gifts, no expensive honeymoon on the private island. All he wants is to spend the rest of his time with his beloved, to be loved, and let it not make you think Helsinki wasn’t giving him enough love. Martín wanted to show Andrés that the banal walk at night on the beach and something so trivial as watching movies would be enough for him and much more significant than the most beautiful jewels in the world.

He was hoping that Andrés wouldn’t get bored too easily and go find himself an easier pray to charm. He could have accepted the proposal but what next? They would break apart the next month? Andrés would still considering him as his personal puppet? No. Andrés has to grow up, emotionally, see for himself that the true love isn’t hiding in shiny little diamonds but in small, fragile gestures.


	8. Let Yourself Be Pampered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martín is getting an appointment at the opthamologist. He might need some support after the news but Andrés is nowhere to be found. Well, he just told him to get lost. But Andrés is not going to give up so easily. He prepared a suprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm slightly dissapointed with the development of this story. I was kinda hoping that my mind would be more creative. That's why I'm working on this crap as fast as I can, to just move on XD  
> Anyway, enjoy as much as it's still possible. Love, Malibu ♥

His return to Palermo was meant to be a blessing. Turns out it’s a horrible curse. A curse of loneliness, a curse of stress, because he’s currently sitting in a specialist clinic waiting for his opthamologist. He has been already waiting for an hour, and he was already going insane in this terrifyingly narrow and dark hall with black blinds on every window. There had been some problems and all of the appointments were moved to a later hour. The thing is that Martín had been already on his way when they called him to announce that wonderful news. He sighed, crossed his legs and leaned his chin on his hand. Patience is a virtue… Shame, ‘cause Martín isn’t virtuos. He wasn’t mad about this sudden change but rather stressed about results of an eye examination. The last time he had been here his opthamologist was warning him about possible need for surgery. Now it can be inevitable if he isn’t willing to lose his sight.

“ _ Se _ _ ñ _ _ or Berrote? _ ” A young nurse appeared in the doorway of a doctor’s office. Martín lifted his head. “Doctor is expecting to take you next. I’m to put drops in your eyes.” she smiled at him, letting him in.

Martín took a peak at his opthamologist talking with another patient and writing out the man’s prescriptions. In the meantime the nurse has prepared anesthetic drops. She asked him to take a seat behind the room screen, and Martín involuntarily tilted his head back. He was about to go sight-testing. The test will help his opthamologist to assess the progression of the glaucoma and to prescribe him appropriate medications. In the worst case Martín will go blind in a few years. While he was waiting for his turn, he heard a quiet talk between the doctor and the previous patient, but Martín tried not to pay it too much attention. It was too stressful for him to hear all the other diagnoses. Soon the door was opened and the nurse was gone to prepare the next patient. Martín took a deep breath trying to prevent his legs from shaking so much.

“ _ Señor Martín _ , may I ask you to come over?” Doctor said with a small smile on his face. The man was always trying to ease Martín’s stress as if he wasn’t the one telling him he’s going to be blind.

Martín stood up and went to sit in front of his opthamologist. He was avoiding looking at these apparatuses around him. They will soon tell him if he has a chance to see in future. The doctor watched him for a while before he wrote something in Martín’s card and started the interview.

“So, two weeks ago we were doing a visual acuity test, we learned that you have a significant loss in your left eye and you told us about an accident” Martín felt like he’s watching some kind of a preview of the episode right before the intro.  _ “Previously on ‘How to Fucked up Berrote’s Life Even More’.”  _ “We assumed you have a progressive glaucoma and I told you about possible treatment. As I can see, we decided to examine your eyes further” He kept on going. Martín just nodded his head too scared to talk. The doctor smiled at him. “Let’s begin with the examination of intraocular pressure” he informed as if this information was somehow meaningful for Martín. He just wished it would be over as soon as possible.

He sat down in front of the machine and waited for the test to start. The doctor setted the machine and started to count. When he reached “one”, a small blow hit Martín’s eye, and soon the same procedure was repeated on his right eye. The result was ready but the opthamologist invited Martín over the next machine. After a few minutes this test was over too but still Martín didn’t know anything about the results. It made him much more anxious. The doctor gave him a while to catch a breath.

“There’s no need to hurry,  _ se _ _ ñor Martín _ , we have time” he said preparing another exam. “During this test you need to focus. It will take us around fifteen minutes. May I have you here?” He gestured to the stool in front of the white tube. “We’re going to exam the right eye first, could you put your chin right here? On your right there’s a button; if you’ll see the light, you press it.” he explained and then he sat to the computer. Martín in the meantime has found the button and was waiting now for the first light.

When it came he nearly didn’t catch it; it was so close to the corner of his eye. The next one was more noticeable; Martín didn’t even hesitate. He was proud of himself. He was pretty much sure he did well. With an enthusiasm he proceeded to exam his other eye. He was confused when he didn’t see any lights coming from the screen inside the tube but suddenly he noticed some flash and his finger twitched on the button but didn’t press it. The opthamologist sighed heavily looking at his patient.

“You’ve seen the light. Why didn’t you press the button?” he asked and Martín just shrugged. “ _ Señor Martín _ , your left eye is almost blind in both corners. It'll be extremely difficult to choose a suitable treatment. A glaucoma is already developing.” he said. So that’s why Martín couldn’t see any lights. “Your right eye is much better. You missed only one spot and we can easily prevent the disease from developing. The intraocular pressure test was very similar in the results. Your left eye requires a pressure reduction. I can’t say for sure if you’ll be able to see” he added. “The only thing we can do is to delay the progression of a glaucoma. I will prescribe you some medications and, if you want, I can make you an appointment at our surgeon. A surgery will be performed by laser, painlessly and directly on an eyeball. It will lower the pressure of your eyes. However, you will need to put drops in your eyes without treatment interruptions." he explained.

Martín lost all of his hope, all of his ability to think logically. His mathematical mind couldn’t comprehend how low was his chance to regain his eyesight. He’s going blind.

“Can I only have the medications for now?” he asked, biting his bottom lip. His eyes were watering either because of those tests or his emotions.

“Of course, in case you change your mind, I would talk with receptionists to keep you in their mind” he wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it over to Martín. He wished him the best, and Martín left the office.

He wiped his tears. He is not going to cry in front of other patients. He is not going to cry because he is losing his sight. He went through such hell that the blindness shouldn’t be such a horrible experience at all. Coming back home he was hoping Andrés would be there waiting for him. That he would cuddle into him and cry in his arms that in a few years he won’t be seeing any of his gorgeous facial features, his sharp cheekbones, crooked smile and those hypnotic chocolate brown eyes, that his own green-bluish eyes would become grey, blind. But his apartment was empty. Only Ingo was rounding him in circles trying to calm his owner. The cat missed Martín but instead of meowing loudly, it lied on Martín’s chest purring softly while the man was stroking its fur.

“See, my friend, soon you will be my eyes, and I will be your ears” he sighed. “We will complement each other...”

How to get back to work knowing all of those sleepless nights spent over the designs, those endless hours of arguing with contractors will make him lose the job instead of getting a promotion. Somewhere on his desk was his latest design for a sicilian contractor. It has to be done in two days, and Martín is not able to focus on anything else than his private tragedy. His eyes are the most important tool in his job, without them there won’t be any designs. And still he didn’t opt to sit down to his calculations, chaos that will come tomorrow morning will be overwhelming but tonight he was going to get an emotional breakdown, he was exhausted. The only thought, beside that appointment at the opthamologist, was Andrés and faint memory of Sergio and Raquel’s wedding. The newlyweds went for the honeymoon, that’s for sure, leaving Andrés alone. Poor Ellen. If she was hoping for a longer vacation from her favourite, stubborn patient, she was wrong. She had to come back to Los Alcazares to take care of him. Martín felt slightly guilty but nonetheless he was mad at Andrés’ behaviour at the table. He didn’t know what made him more angry. The fact that Andrés didn’t even ask him the proper question or that he put the ring in front of him and humiliate him around people who consider him as a piece of garbage. Or maybe that Andrés thinks about engagement as a way to fix everything that’s broken. No matter the reason he was freaking mad.

He was mad and Andrés was desperate. For several days now, he has been molesting his brother for Martín's address. He explained that it was important that he had to see Martín, that otherwise everything would be lost, including his therapy, until finally Sergio, for his and his wife's peace of mind, conveyed this secret knowledge to Andrés. He wanted to make him realise he is too weak to fly to Palermo, that he should stay home beside Ellen. He asked Ellen herself to look after his brother and not let him leave. The girl agreed. That's why she was now helping Andrés inject his drug and gave him directions on how and where to turn for help when he felt unwell in flight. She was teaching him not to be afraid to ask one person from the flight crew for help in giving him medicine.

“I believe it’s a mission impossible” she said, while packing Andrés’ belonging to the small suitcase. “Sergio will fire me if he would know about this” she added looking at Andrés grinning from ear to ear. The man did not even seem sick at this exact moment.

“Ah, don't be upset. My brother won't find out. I will be silent” he answered, pressing his fingers against his mouth. “You don't even know how much that means to me. Tomorrow is our anniversary” he continued.

“What if he doesn't want to see you?” asked Ellen. She had just zipped the suitcase closed and she could help Andrés dress in an ecru suit.

“Nonsense” he said with a snort. “Martín will be charmed by my unexpected visit” he stated proudly. Ellen just looked at him doubtfully. She bent down to tie the brown oxfords on the man.

Andrés was still staring dreamily at his packed suitcase and the flight ticket to Palermo lying on it. He hardly heard Ellen giving him final tips about his medications. He didn't know if he would remember when to take them, so the nurse quickly made a note for him on each of the ampoules. She hoped Sergio would not find out that she had allowed Andrés to leave Spain. The younger brother would go completely insane if that happened, but Ellen made it clear that Sergio's opinion about Martín and Andrés and their love for each other did not coincide with hers. She saw them in a slightly different way than Sergio did. Maybe she doesn't quite know them, but she knew Martín's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Andrés, and she saw Andrés's eyes glow with love as Martín returned to him. They were destined for each other, no matter how twisted the duo they were, they could be like fire and water to each other, like match and gasoline, like Yin and Yang, but in each of these possibilities, one could not function without the other.

So Andrés boarded the plane and left for Palermo, and the unsuspecting Martín worked hard to finish the building plan. He has already made a mistake several times in the last equations, and tomorrow morning all these calculations are to be correct and submitted to the contractor along with the project, on which he had already nailed his stamp.

“Martín, I hope you will honor us by your presence at the twelve o'clock meeting. “His boss interrupted his work. The man entered his office enthusiastically, examining the finished project. Martín went back to biting the pencil and calculating the next equations. “Beautiful as always… the design, of course!” His supervisor smiled as he placed the tracing paper on the desk. “So what? We wouldn’t start without you” he said leaving.

Martín glanced at his watch. He had two more hours to twelve. During these two hours all calculations should be completed and the entire project should be put together. He wanted to present it at the meeting today as a justification for his application for a promotion, which his supervisor had already supported. Pablo was proud of his achievements and encouraged him to submit this application to the company's CEOs. Now he was very vigorously behind his best employee and supported him in the choices he made. He was definitely the best boss Martín would ever have wished for. And for clarity, it was not so only in relation to the Argentinean. Whenever someone had a problem, they could count on their boss, his honest opinion, motivating praise and constructive criticism. Pablo was maintaining with all of his employees very friendly relations, there weren't between him and the rank and file employees any differences. No self-exaltation, no controlling, no ordering. Everyone knew their place and did what they were supposed to do, and the atmosphere in the company was quite pleasant. Were it not for a few people who saw a rival in Martín, he would even say that he felt like a donut in butter.

Exactly at noon Martín entered the conference room. The meeting didn't really start until he closed the door behind him. He sat down in an empty chair with a stack of papers laid out on the table in front of him. When given a voice in the middle of the meeting, very carefully he explained the project, on which he worked and what he was able to create. His boss nodded at him with a sincere smile on his face, watched the reaction of the CEOs, saying with a gaze "this is my man, this pearl is in my department, this rough diamond of Sicilian architecture." He was proud of Martín and Martín was proud of his accomplishment. The presentation lasted an hour and a half. The assembled board members asked him questions, wanting to find out what computational methods he used, how he constructed the project, what he managed to deduce. There was nothing Martín didn't know. He was able to quickly find the right formula, the right phrase, the right sentence in his head. There was no way that they would bend him with something. He prepared himself meticulously, worked hard to make sure that all of this would happen today with his project on the table. He was counting on positive reception from his listeners, so as soon as he finished speaking, he surveyed the entire room. The men were now discussing with each other, exchanging their opinions and views, but on many issues they agreed and almost unequivocally accepted Martín's project for execution, as a result of which Martín will come out of today's meeting richer in a management position over the team and will be responsible for the implementation of the investment along with principals. One of the managers had only minor uncertainties about the measurement method used, but Martín quickly dispelled his doubts. Pablo gave him two thumbs up a bit childish, but Martín respected his boss's mute praise.

He came home all in larks, forgetting his eye problems. He had bought himself an expensive red wine that was his favorite, and was going to celebrate his promotion by dancing to his old vinyl records. He happily pulled his black Infiniti into the underground parking lot and parked it in the designated area for his apartment. In a hurry he got out of the car, got his briefcase and the wine he had bought from the front seat. On the staircase, however, he was in for a surprise. Here is the majestic as always elegant figure of Andrés awaiting his appearance in the corridor. Perhaps even Martín would ignore him, but one thing did not escape his attention. Andrés held a bouquet of white roses in his hands, a beautiful, captivating bouquet of the whitest roses he could get from an Italian florist, tied with a cream velvet ribbon and sprinkled with green accents. Martín huffed in amusement and passed Andrés without saying a word as he made his way to his apartment.

“Before you say anything, no, I haven't done the same with any of my exes. You're the only one, to tell you the truth, who ever got flowers from me” Andrés rushed to explain.

Martín turned to him, staring at him funny, and pressed the door handle to his apartment. Ingo stood in his usual corner, eyeing curiously at the reason Martín was delaying getting into the apartment. He exchanged a quick glance with Andrés and quickly trotted deeper into the apartment, indicating that it was feeding time. His master, however, stubbornly stood in the doorway, looking at Andrés for a long moment. The man looked like a runaway groom, as if he was on his way home from his wedding and wanted to share the news with his once-best friend. An almost white suit clung to his slender waist elegantly, a white shirt undone with two buttons, exposing his chest, revealing the little black hairs covering it. The gold watch on his wrist gleamed in the dim light of the corridor, reminding the world who was on top. Andrés held out the bouquet towards Martín, expecting any kind of reaction from him.

“You're gravely ill, Andrés, you should stay home” said Martín calmly, accepting the bouquet of roses. “Come inside, we'll have some wine, we have something to celebrate” he added after a while.

Martín entered the apartment, leading Andrés inside. The man immediately sat down on the sofa in the living area of the apartment, drawing Inga's attention. The cat perched next to him on the floor, staring at him. Meanwhile, Martín prepared a vase for flowers, untied the ribbon, and placed the roses in the glass vessel. An involuntary smile appeared on his face, even if he wanted to doubt that Andrés had never done it, he just couldn't, couldn't deny the facts. He had not seen such a beautiful bouquet in any of Andrés's women, he had not seen any bouquet for the sake of clarity. He smelled the roses and carried them to the living room, setting them on the coffee table in front of Andrés.

"I assume Sergio doesn't know you're here and you don't know what" I want to be alone "means?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Ingo jumped up suddenly and circled Martín, meowing loudly.

“Nice kitten, how is it called?”

“Ingeniero ... Don't try to avoid my questions” Martín replied, trying to continue to be cold towards Andrés, but had to admit that his gesture had touched him. Maybe he'll learn something after all. “Did you take your medications?” he asked, seeing Andrés's hands shake.

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked back into the kitchen, pouring some food into the bowl of his kitten. But when he looked at Andrés, the man was forced to answer him, and he knew that Andrés' answer was unlikely to please Martín.

“I could have missed one dose of the drug while I waited for you to come home from work” he admitted frankly, smiling rather awkwardly at Martín.

Martín sighed, walked over to Andrés' suitcase and reached into its pocket for his medication. Seemingly indifferent at Andrés after what he had done, as if not interested in the state of health of the Spaniard, but crouched beside him, helped him take off his jacket, putting it on the armrest sofa, rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and gently twisting his slender arm, found a suitable place to put the needle. He muttered something like, "You are extremely irresponsible," making Andrés laugh, which made Martín almost crammed into his vein. The Argentinean fixed him with his eyes. The injection did not take long, and after it was finished, Martín threw the used ampoule and needle into the bin. He washed his hands quickly and, excusing Andrés, began to prepare dinner. He was supposed to make spaghetti today, and he deliberately pulled the meat out of the freezer early in the morning so that it would be thawed by the time he came back. Meanwhile, Andrés walked over to him, rolled up the other sleeve of his shirt, and leaned against the counter, watching Martín in the kitchen.

“Can I help you?” he asked. Martín looked at him in surprise. Usually either he cooked or Andrés, always separately, never together. Andrés didn't like having someone walk around his kitchen at the same time as he, and Martín ... Martín was just used to being alone, dancing and singing in the kitchen, cooking for himself.

However, he nodded his head. He handed a cutting board to Andrés and asked him to help him with the sauce while he took care of the meat and started boiling the water. Ingo watched them from the side, craving some delicacies that would fall off the counter. He tangled under his feet several times, grabbing pieces of meat in the blink of an eye. He quickly ran to the side, not interfering with the two men. They, in turn, had a lot of fun cooking together, especially when Martín pulled out flour to make pasta dough. The entire kitchen was white, as were their clothes. It therefore took much longer to cook and almost resulted in the sauce burning and Martín accidentally on the slippery tiles.

“I'm not sure if you can drink alcohol, but I guess one glass will do no harm” he said, handing the glass to Andrés. “There is definitely an occasion to celebrate” he added mysteriously. Andrés set his cutlery aside for a moment and took the stem of the glass, lifting it. “I got a promotion at work. From today I am the executive manager of the company and I am working on my own project with a team of subordinates” Martín announced proudly, tapping his glass against that of Andrés.

Andrés grinned at the news. There was no end to congratulations on his part. He knew how great a genius was in Martín, he always admired him for his intelligence. Even if he were to admit whose genius appreciates Martín or his brother more, he would undoubtedly choose Martín. This man simply impressed him from the first days together, for fifteen years constantly.

In the evening, Andrés asked Martín to take him for a walk around Palermo. In fact, he himself knew where to go and led Martín himself to the seaside promenade. They walked along the coast, admiring the beauty of the sunset over a Sicilian city. Martín told him a lot, about his new life, about his new job, about how Ingo lived with him. He did not return to the days of the robbery, he did not return to the relationship with Mirko. At one point, he just closed these chapters. He told how he fulfilled his dream that the gold they would steal would see his former homeland, how it returned to Argentina, despite the fact that he did not set his feet there, because he could not look at his beloved Buenos Aires and remind himself what his family looked like before he admitted that he is gay. He did not want to go back to those times when life on the street had taught him to steal; when he was learning by himself, using the resources of his genius, because he could not afford education; when he sold his young, teenage body to get a living, and he ended up stealing loaves of bread at the market; when he walked neglected, dirty and cold; when in winter he was feverish and ill in dark alleys, trying to protect himself from the cold in cardboard boxes; when his bare feet were frostbite from walking on snow. He only wanted to remember the times when he left Buenos Aires, left Argentina, because he was taken in by someone who saw a potential in him that was not noticed by others. Martín was still practically homeless at that time, and it was only out of the goodness of other people's hearts that he had what to eat, what to wear, how to wash and where to sleep at night. He was still working as a street whore and making money that way, he didn't know the concept of love, sex was his job, a way to survive, not a romantic confession. Spitting on relationships, no one wanted him permanently, he was good at once, for one night. When the bourgeois appeared in the slums, a real dandy, it immediately got louder in the streets. The man was wealthy, it was easy to deduce, Martín had only his body to offer, but he knew that someone like this would never look at him, never touch him with a stick. And when he met the same man at the Berlin Philharmonic, he knew that at that moment he had been hit by Cupid's arrow, that it was fate. They are made for each other, two halves forming a whole, quite different from each other but belonging to the same soul.

Martín fought with himself not to take Andrés's hand in a romantic mood, accompanied by the sound of the waves on the seashore. They took such walks for years in the deepest recesses of his imagination, he never thought that one day it would come true. Besides, such gestures have always been for him only dreams. Neither of his lovers was interested in anything more than "boom, boom, ciao" and he made no attempt to keep any lover with him, he was too… enchanted with Andrés to go on dates and romantic walks with other men.

And certainly none of those men took him to expensive restaurants, as Andrés had usually taken Martín purely for company in previous years, as he claimed, nor would he go to a coffee shop with others for an exclusive dessert, as he did now with Andrés. Admittedly, the idea of stopping for a cake at a seaside café was Andrés', and he insisted that he pay for their order today, and Martín felt bad about it anyway. Like a parasite, even a kept man. It reminded him of the times when he could not afford food and counted on the mercy of others to give him at least a few pesos for a slice of bread, or the times when Andrés first took him under his wing and decided for him to make a gentleman out of him, gave him a roof over his head and dressed in satin suits. At that time remorse had itched him more than the unrolled cuffs of his velvet shirt, because back then he was a stranger who had spent an absurd amount of money on him, which Martín had never seen before. And he didn't even blink an eye! As if the price of more than four thousand euros did not impress him, as if it were like daily bread for him. Shit, and Martín, instead of rejoicing at the fact that he was wearing a Versace suit and shirt, was anxiously crimping his worn-out old shirt, which had been growing with him for ten years, since he had stolen money for it from wealthy Buenos Aires tourists. And today? Today, this amount does not impress him, he buys shirts for thousands of euros himself, and yet when Andrés took out forty euros for his order on the table, he felt uncomfortable and rushed to settle the bill. Andrés placed his hand on Martín's gripping leather wallet.

“Don’t be silly” He heard soon, turned his head, and saw Andrés standing on the other side of him, his jacket slung over his forearm, himself already clothed and ready to leave. “May we leave?” he asked, carefully unfolding his jacket to help Martín dress it.

“Yes, of course” he replied, instantly moving away from the table and allowing Andrés to help him put on his jacket.

He smiled faintly to him, only a shadow of his real smile. Andrés escorted him to his apartment, offering him his arm somewhere along the way so that Martín could slip his hand into the crease in his elbow. Hopes that Andrés would stay, however, proved futile. The man, despite his serious health condition, which was slowly starting to deteriorate after such a long walk, declared that in order not to violate Martín's privacy in his own apartment, he would simply spend the night in a hotel. Before any word of protest could come out of Martín's lips, Andrés said goodbye to him and his kitten.

“See you soon, Martín” He bowed his head, though he was missing one of his hats.

  
The Argentinean, amused, reciprocated the gesture, still standing on the doorstep, saying goodbye to Andrés. In the morning he would not even think that Andrés could appear here; he was still angry about what happened at his brother's wedding, and now all the sorrow was dispelled by tender words, a charming bouquet and a romantic walk. Andrés was considered a true gentleman and romantic, but when it came to efforts to win someone's heart, he was giving up rather quickly. He wasn't going on dates to get a girl, he was going on dates to keep a girl beside him. He did not go to romantic dinners with girlfriends, he went to them with his wives.  Mainly out of an unwritten obligation to meet their needs, which any of them wouldn't say aloud, he would buy them expensive gifts so that they wouldn't turn their backs on him. Perhaps neither of them even saw him in clothes other than luxurious suits, saw what Andrés really was. That even if he dresses thousands of euros in public, in the privacy of his home, alone, he can show up in looser-cut trousers and a polo shirt. Martín knew that, maybe because he always said that for him, clothing was no determinant of what you are, that for him Andrés is extremely elegant, even in tracksuits, though, incidentally, he would never wear them. Perhaps because he himself did not attach the importance to sit in front of the mirror two hours earlier than his husband every morning to put on his makeup, put on his finest dress and high crystal stilettos to make breakfast in them. Yes, some of Andrés' wives did just that. Martín was a witness when they occupied the bathroom at five in the morning, and he was returning from an all-night libation, disheveled and hungover. No wonder Andrés also "kept up" with them. It was with Martín that he felt comfortable enough to throw off his coat after another divorce case, throw his shoes into the corner and walk barefoot to the "living room", where Martín was waiting for him with glasses of wine by the fireplace, to fall helplessly and without grace on armchair, untie the tie and unbutton the shirt. With him, "keeping the level" was not a hypocritical lie, and he seemed somehow more ... human. And yet, even with such a strong sense of superiority, he had never made an effort for a lady's hand. They themselves were attracted to him by his grace, intelligence, brilliant sarcasm and charming compliments ...  _ Stuffed wallet, captivating beauty, luxury and gold earrings with diamonds. _ Why should he try to use his energy for something as unnecessary as dating? He had them wrapped around his finger from the first dinner for two hundred euros. This is where the problem with Andrés' reasoning begins, for the fact that his chicks felt in love with the contents of his bank account and of a specially constructed jewel safe did not mean that Martín, after so many years of fruitless waiting for him, would be caught in the same trap. “No, my dear, we've known each other for a while. Enchant me. Make me quiver to be with you"  _ If you do love me. _ Martín teaches him this, small gestures, meaningless walks, primitive sunsets, pathetic "make a wish" when you see a long-awaited shooting star in the sky, even feminine flowers and chocolates boxes. These little things sometimes mean more than the most expensive diamond and the finest gold.


	9. Eternal Romantic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martín and Andrés decided to start a new life together regardless of Sergio's displeasure. Andrés is preparing a special evening for both of them. He is hoping the Martín would appreciate his effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okey, hi again, there's another chapter I manage to translate in my free time from university. There will be one more chapter, I think, but so far, enjoy. Hope it's readable as I'm not a native speaker. Love, Malibu ♥

If someone had told him that the love of his life would love him back, he would have laughed at him openly. A womanizer like Andrés? Nonsense! Has anyone else ever said anything so absurd? And yet Andrés seems to accept what Martín has become for him over the years. The most important person in his life, giving meaning to his existence, defining what he was looking for all over Europe. True love. Soulmate. Best friend, lover and partner.

But their idyll, as always, must end one day. Especially when Sergio is involved. He had little interest in excuses and explaining from both men that it was their anniversary, that it was the only day they could and have something to celebrate, that he should enjoy with them. That didn't stop him from throwing expensive dry wine into the trash and taking their glasses from them. He swung them over the table. “Try to break them! These are crystal glasses decorated with 24-carat gold! ”.

“How can you be so irresponsible when you are so old?! Andrés, your illness requires constant medical care, not flights to Palermo!” He stuck a finger at his brother. He already had Andrés' suitcase ready, and if he had to, he would force him out of this apartment.

“ _ Hermanito _ , aren't you happy that Martín came back to us? Don't you congratulate us on such a beautiful result? Fifteen years!” He stressed, seeking recognition. Hand on his hand almost frightened him.

“Your brother is right. You should be home now. You can pretend, but I can see that you are not well” Martín rationed.

That evening, Andrés broke his cup of tea. It simply fell out of his hands, barely two steps away from the counter. He tried to whiten himself that it was exhaustion, but Martín knew what he was, and although he is going blind, he still saw what was happening to his beloved. Not so long ago, a few hours ago, he had to say goodbye to a porcelain plate while eating together. Andrés, however, sat calm at the table, calm, holding a knife and fork in his hands, all to avoid doing the worst, to show Martín how weak he was. As if he wanted to deceive, maybe not so much Martín, but himself, his body and the impending death, that it is not yet the time that several years will pass before he is again at the mercy of others. Martín didn't move from the table either, staring only at the broken plate. The first evidence that Andrés should be in Los Alcazares, not Palermo, should have thrown him out of here, for his own good.

Now he felt guilty. The only question is, has he ever wasn't blamed for anything? Guilt had been with him since he was a teenager. First blame for being gay and consequently losing his home, then Andrés and blame that his affection destroyed a long-standing friendship, but soon this turned into another, blame for Andrés' death that he failed to keep him in the monastery, blame for Nairobi that she never left the bank as she had dreamed of, the blame for tarnishing Helsinki's reputation, for their failed relationship. Now blame for the condition of Andrés which was his own doing.

Sergio didn't even look at him, as if Martín was just a ghost, Andrés's imagination, a specter of what Andrés would want. So he disappeared, as before, in the shadow of an older man. Only with his hand on his shoulder was he still marking his presence among them.

Andrés was left with no other choice. Sergio stood over him, throwing thunder from his eyes, intimidating him, or at least trying. His anger was intensified by the fact that his honeymoon with Raquel had to be interrupted by his older brother… and his friend. Martín, being the youngest of them, didn't have much to say. Making a promise to Andrés was the only thing Sergio allowed him to do. Although he would preferably put a wall between them.

Andrés never fully forgave his brother for his intervention in Palermo. In the car on the way from the airport, he was silent, nothing like himself. He would normally be in a constant conversation.

“Andrés, I know you are inconsolable with the fact that I forbade you from going to Palermo. I did it for an obvious reason…”

“You never liked Martín. When I brought him home on the first day you treated him like a stray cat. You were looking for a house for him and an owner who would want to take him in, because you were not going to be a shelter” Andrés snorted, unwilling to listen to his brother whining. “And do you remember when I went to Madrid with you? You were hoping Martín would be gone from my life by then. A week later I returned to the monastery, to your displeasure, to Martín. You constantly had a grudge against me, and you still have it. Am I really not allowed to be happy anymore?” he asked, wailing pitifully.

“You've had women so far, I endured them patiently, Martín only complicated everything, especially when you started introducing him into our heists”he explained, he went through these conversations hundreds of times, he did not want to start this topic anew.

“He was our missing link! We needed his genius!”he announced confidently, and then he seemed to understand. He laughed. “ _ Ay, hermanito _ , you’re just jealous of Martín! That I think his genius is greater than yours! Hence the unhealthy rivalry between you!” he said, stabbing his brother's shoulder teasingly with his finger.

Sergio ignored the comment, though the thought touched him somewhere. Andrés has always followed Martín's crazy ideas more willingly than his brother's rational ideas. He was surprised by their diversity of characters. Martín was easier to get carried away, Andrés controlled himself in most cases. Martín was excited about each solved equation, Andrés expressed his satisfaction only after he achieved his goal. Martín spoke loudly, quickly and incomprehensibly, mixing his native accent and that learned over the years alongside Andrés, Andrés spoke in an elegant manner, choosing his words carefully, composing poetry in the simplest of sentences. Martín's artistry consisted of creating extensive mathematical plans and analyzes, Andrés's artistry was in every stroke of his brush and pencil, in his charisma and charm.

How and when something more than friendship emerged between them remains a mystery. Not only for Sergio, but also for Martín and Andrés. For Martín, love for Andrés was obvious, as if he had been born to adore and love him. Andrés, however, could not say exactly at what point Martín ceased to be just a man for him who would provide him with company when another woman left him, and he began to be the only person with whom he felt understood and in whose arms he looked for comfort and safety after each divorce, as relieved as coming home after a hard day's work. Martín was his home, the only real one he had ever created. And Martín cared for them with care, lovingly cherishing each moment together.

Perhaps it was a habit, this tendency instilled in him to fulfill Andrés's every whim, packed all his things into suitcases and Ingo into a transporter with his toys. Andrés was waiting for him in Spain, and although he still denied it, in his new "old" house. He would be lying if he said he was not stressed. Oh, no, the nerves were eating him inside, clutching his stomach until he was sick. He barely reached the bus terminal! Unfortunately, this time he had to use public transport services, Sergio's jeep didn't wait for him in the parking lot in front of the airport, making it clear that it was better without him. At least that was his impression, and whether it was right he did not know. In the heat of the afternoon and the stuffiness of the crowded bus, he reached Los Alcazares, where Andrés had his villa. Ingo was meowing horribly in his transporter. He was terrified of his new surroundings, he hadn't seen his master carrying him in the transporter since they had left the apartment together, and the swing of the small cage did not soothe him at all. Martín would probably talk to him, but Ingo wouldn't even hear a nuclear bomb blast, let alone a gentle man's voice. Fortunately, they found themselves on the threshold of the residence not much later. Ellen greeted them, still wiping her hands on a kitchen towel in a floured apron.

“What is this smell? Are you baking bread?” the Argentinian asked, releasing the cat in the hall, then taking off his leather jacket and hanging it next to Andrés' coat.

“I haven't been able to buy the bread Andrés eats at the local bakery, so yes, I'm baking bread. What is not done for your favorite patient.” She waved her hand as if it were normal nurses' duties to be in the kitchen and do shopping.

“You’re not his housekeeper” snorted Martín, well from now on Andrés' needs will be his responsibility, as in the good old days. Not that Ellen is not welcome here, quite the contrary, but the tiredness was clearly painted on the girl's face and she deserved rest, real rest. “And where’s Sergio? And Andrés?” he askes, noticing Sergio’s coat on the hanger.

“Ah, Sergio had just arrived, wanted to check in on Andrés before he returned to his family. Why don't you have coffee in the kitchen with me? You know, I have to keep an eye on the baking” she proposed quickly, making it clear that Sergio did not want to meet Martín, so he arrived unusually early.

Martín shrugged. "Well why not." He left the suitcase in the corner of the corridor, Ingo quickly looked after him and ran after him, the bell at his collar accompanying each step. Ellen looked into the oven and turned the tray over while Martín put the water in the kettle.

“I didn't think there would ever come a day when I and Andrés could be together again” he muttered suddenly, interrupting the girl humming a tune. “A lot has happened between us, but you know, it's good to be back after all” he admitted with a smile on his lips as he watched Ingo find a toy in curtains tassels.

“Andrés also beamed, for a long time I hadn't seen him as excited, singing and dancing as long as he has an energy - she replied after a while.

As soon as they made themselves coffee, they sat down at the table, losing themselves in conversation. Ingo rummaged around the kitchen, getting to know his new surroundings. He had already chosen his favorite place on the windowsill from which he watched the passing birds. Martín didn't even notice when Sergio left the house. He only managed to notice the jeep driving away, and then he felt familiar hands on his shoulders, soft lips on his cheek. He almost choked on his coffee, surprised by the sudden presence of Andrés, which made the older man laugh and Ellen smile. Martín turned back to look at his beloved. Andrés was smiling broadly in his signature way, looking at him as if he were his brightest star in the sky. What else was left to him? The Argentine stood up, and soon they were both locked in a tight embrace.

“Welcome home, Martín” the Spaniard whispered, his face tucked somewhere between the younger man's neck and shoulder. One tear ran down his cheek, yet it didn't escape Martín's attention. "If you get emotional, I'll get emotional too".

Less than an hour later, after they had said goodbye to Ellen, forcing her to promise to visit them again, Martín picked up his suitcase from the corridor and carried it upstairs, following Andrés. He was not surprised when Andrés showed him to his bedroom. It was so obvious that no other option was taken into the consideration. So, ignoring the empty room opposite, the two gentlemen entered the Spaniard's spacious bedroom. As it turned out, Andrés worked meticulously to make sure there was space in his wardrobe and chest of drawers for Martín's clothes. Own drawers, own shelves, shared hangers, because they will lend their shirts to the other one anyway. They didn't even try to hide their joy, and if only the older man had more strength, he would have picked Martín up in a fit of excitement. He would never, never do something so absurd again. How could he break them apart, destroy something so beautiful, reject the only chance of a truly successful relationship? Over the years, no one had aroused such emotions in him as the Argentinean, and for years he thought it was just friendship, not wanting to admit it was something more. Martín's last shirt was hanging on the hanger, the velvety material felt smooth against his fingers. He smiled at his favorite engineer, wrapping one arm around his waist. "It should always be like that."

With this in mind, Andrés made his perfect plan. A surprise for Martín, which he worked on while younger went shopping in town. He had been dressing in front of the mirror for an hour, matching his clothes to the clothes he had prepared for Martín. He studied the perfume bottles on the bathroom shelf for the next several minutes, hesitating between the classic scent of Dior's musk and leather, the warming notes of Paco Rabanne's cinnamon and patchouli, and the sensual accords of cardamom and vanilla by Giorgio Armani. Each bottle was luxurious and clearly emphasized Andrés' charisma and elegance, but the trick was to choose a fragrance that would blend in perfectly with Yves Saint Laurent's spicy black pepper and cedar aromas or the magnetic scent of Dolce & Gabbana's ginger and amber that Martín used. Fragrances cannot clash with each other, they are supposed to complement each other and create a captivating composition. Therefore, after a long period of contemplation, the choice fell on Giorgio Armani. Andrés has also prepared a unique dinner for them with delicious red wine. He hoped that his efforts would be appreciated by his soulmate and it would be a pleasant evening spent together under the stars.

Martín came back from shopping, laden with several bulky bags. He had both groceries, including cat food, and brand new Calvin Klein and Lacoste clothes. Ingo had already spotted him from the living room and was running madly towards him. So far, he did not disturb Andrés, but only closely watched him from a distance, wondering if the man was worthy of his feline trust. He had a small note pinned to the collar with a bell. The Argentinean put down his groceries and bent down to the kitten, taking the paper off and unfolding it. On paper it was written in beautiful italics a kind of invitation, a request. "I'm waiting for you." Underneath, there is a drawing of a golden rose decorated with brocade, and the whole note sprinkled with perfumes he already knew. Martín smiled to himself. What a bastard. Not knowing what to really do, he took his purchases to the salon. He was supposed to unpack them, let Andrés wait a bit longer, but his attention was caught by a golden rose lying on the neatly folded clothes, his clothes. He picked up a rose and another note was attached to it. "I know, Martín, you look beautiful in everything, but I'll make it up to you if you want to wear them." The man's gaze fell on his bottle green shirt and beige suit trousers with a dark brown leather belt. Reluctantly, he took off his warm and very comfortable sweatshirt and tight jeans, through which almost most of the men looked after him in the gallery, admiring his round ass and slim legs. In those few minutes, he had understood the hidden meaning of the golden rose drawn so beautifully on the first note. Slipping on his pants, he noticed another flower closer to the fireplace and their photos together.

Like the previous one, this one also had a note pinned. "Fifteen roses are not enough to express how much I love you, but it is enough to remind us of how long we've known each other." Martín rolled his eyes quite theatrically. He wanted it himself, let him not complain now. Andrés has entered his element. Eternal romantic. He turned to look for another hidden rose, hoping to find it somewhere with their photos, but instead found it by the doorframe.

He untied the ribbon that held the note. "I love the blue of your eyes." He sighed slowly.  _ Here it comes… They are green, not blue, Andrés. _ The note joined the previous ones in his shirt pocket on his chest, and he walked over to another rose lying on the frame of the photo Sergio was taking of them against Martín's objections. The pout on his face was clearly visible and contrasted with Andrés' joy. On the other hand, the note showed a rather ironic message. "Your radiant smile." The Argentinian, somewhat amused, looked carefully at the photo. Maybe he sees it a little differently? Or maybe Andrés is writing to himself? The peak of his narcissism is unknown even to Martín.

He left further speculation in favor of another golden rose pinned to the little model that Martín had once glued for Andrés's birthday. "Your passion for science." At least one thing he could rule out now. Andrés is definitely not writing about himself or to himself. His interest in science is zero, if not negative, for him what matters is aesthetics and art. Somewhere there was a reason why among the two of them, Martín was the one, who dealt with the merits of each robbery. However, he appreciated the memory for how much his genius contributed to their relationship. Also, in the next note attached to the rose, two pictures continued to appreciate this memory. "Your patience." The painting, painted with Andrés's own brushes and paints, showed Martín hugging his beloved in his arms, while the older man was crying on his shoulder, a glass of wine in his hand. In the background, he could see the fireplace where they spent the cold evenings together in the monastery. He could easily guess in what honor the painting was made. One of Andrés' divorces that they both remembered most, the record-breaking marriage of the Spaniard and the suffering of the Argentinean that lasted for six months. He was so lost in his memories that he would have missed that rose that was actually hidden on the top frame of the same painting. In order to get it, Martín had to stand on his tiptoes and yet he reached it out with difficulty. "Your support". There was a lot of that in these fifteen years. He always tried to be close, naively believing that Andrés would love him back, he would see that everything he was looking for was in Martín.

With a bouquet of seven roses, he continued his search. There was a painting on the wall on the other side, or rather a framed photograph from one, perhaps third, wedding of Andrés, but it did not show the bride. Martín was already drunk on it, he was hugging Andrés tightly to stay on his own legs, the flushed cheeks betrayed his condition, as was his dreamy gaze and smile. Or maybe it was then that he was beginning to fall in love with Andrés? They looked as if their wedding arch could be seen in the distance, but Martín had forgotten to wear a wedding ring. "Your devotion." It's nice that Andrés has noticed this for so many years but never said anything.

Martín snorted, added a rose to his bouquet, and walked over to another. He tried not to look at his portrait, screaming famous quote from that movie about a sinking ship: "Draw me like one of your French girls". He wasn't completely naked here, he couldn't allow it. He was dressed in a beautiful pink blush. He only agreed to this because he wanted to go to sleep, and Andrés insisted and blackmailed him that until he had this sketch he would not go to his bedroom. So he took off all his clothes and lay down on the sofa, posing for the tipsy Andrés and his canvas. Damn art vision ... "Your secretive romanticism." He didn't know how much it had to do with romantism, because he felt like a porn star here. Not to mention how much he hates his body and the fact that Andrés painted him as he is, he didn't embellish him with beautiful abdominal muscles worthy of a Greek god. Turning away from the painting, he found another rose on the railing of the stairs. Does he lead him to the bedroom? Waiting for him there in the sheets among golden rose petals? He leaned out, looking up, but saw no flower there. So he unfolded the note. "The way you talk about physics for hours, even though I don't understand it." No, it doesn't lead him to the bedroom. Physics is the last topic that could make Andrés horny, it would rather irritate him. It saddened him a bit, because he dreamed about it for many years, on cold, lonely nights, when there was no one to lull him to sleep. Disappointed, he continued looking.

Four more roses gleamed in the hallway, and there was no doubt that they led to the patio. There were no photos on the walls anymore, the only light in the corridor was provided by a rustic, very tasteful wall lamp. The roses, however, were hanged at different spaces. "For how confident you have become."  _ Just because you left me. _ "For teaching me to love."  _ Even though you thought you knew everything about it. _ "For seeing me as a man."  _ When they only saw the money and the monster without feelings. _ "For that I can be myself with you." One hundred percent true, Martín would love him as much, even if he was wearing wine-stained sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt with a frayed print. The roses were hard to hold in his hand, and another was hanging from the patio door handle. The last and the first, because the red one tied with a beautiful golden bow. "I love you for being here for me."

He pressed the handle, opened the door, and went out onto the terrace. Indeed Andrés was waiting there, dressed of course in a three-piece graphite suit and a navy blue shirt. He looked up as he heard footsteps on the patio and smiled charmingly at Martín. The man looked at the table prepared for them, two plates, a tall candlestick, chilled wine, and a bowl of food. He didn't seem to realize how close he was to crying himself. Andrés made him aware of this. He got up and walked over to him, rubbing his cheek with his thumb.

“Is this for me? Oh, Martín, you didn’t have to” he joked, pointing to the bouquet of roses in the Argentinean hand.

The younger of them laughed brightly, the tears that had accumulated at the corners of his eyes streaming down his cheeks and right under Andrés' fingers. "You didn't have to do all of this." They sat down together at the table, serving themselves a dish prepared by Andrés. Martín's emotions subsided a bit, he easily told Andrés about whatever came on his tongue, knowing he would be listened to anyway. He hadn't expected the biggest gift to be unpacked yet. They finished their glass of wine and Andrés stood up. For a moment the Argentinean thought it was over, they had dinner together, romantic one might say, and it's time to get back to normal. Not the first time that had happened, but the Spaniard gave his hand instead.

“I would like to take you to the garden, if you don’t mind” he said, seeing the surprise in younger's eyes.

“I am very pleased, but I hope it will not become a habit for you, you know, treating me like a lady of the court, don't get me wrong, I wanted and proposed it myself, but in the long run I will feel like a woman, I don't like being equated to their level…”

“Can you ever be silent for once?" He interrupted his gibberish. "You'll be my prince, I'll treat you royally and you'll stop complaining." He led him into the garden in the dark of the evening.

In the distance, the moon rose into the sky, illuminating them with a yellowish glow. There was silence around them, only from time to time you could hear crickets and owls calling. Martín was completely lost in the beauty of the garden after dark, wondering how it must be during the day, when all the flowers bloom again and color attracted butterflies sit up on their petals. How it would be to go out to the garden in the morning with bare feet, quite carelessly with a cup of hot coffee, listening to the chirping of birds hidden in the treetops, and sipping wine at night with the love of your life, cuddled up in a gazebo illuminated by tiny lights. Soon a few beautifully sparkling fireflies gathered around them. Martín, staring at insects, didn't even notice when Andrés took a small box from his jacket pocket and knelt in front of him.

“Martín, I know how much you have suffered because of me and how long you dreamed about it, about us. For a long time now, I should have admit that you are more important than anyone else ever could be. I don't know how much time we have left, but I can't imagine spending it any other way than with you. Therefore, Martín, I want to ask you for your hand, promising you that I will do everything to make you feel loved and happy.” He grabbed the man's hand, stroking his wrist with his thumb. "Will you marry me?" He asked when he got no answer.

Martín continued to stare at the little flying worms above their heads, did not turn to Andrés. The Spaniard was already giving up hope, ready for another rejection, cursing himself for ruining such a successful evening, he was afraid that Martín would leave him again, he was ready to get up, close the box with the engagement ring and cancel all the words he had just said. They'll forget it, go back to normal, and that's it. But the tears on Martín's cheeks glistened in the moonlight, and he soon turned to him with a weak smile overwhelmed by emotions, his heart beating so rapidly that if someone had examined him now, a doctor would have diagnosed him with a heart attack. All he could do was say a soft "yes". Andrés no longer had the heart to tease him and make him repeat. He put the ring on his finger and pulled him into his tight embrace.

“I never thought you could fight for me so stubbornly" he whispered, hiding in the man's arms. "I love you, Andrés" he kissed him softly on the lips. "But forget about sex until I see a gold ring on that finger." He waved his hand in front of his face with a coquettish smile.

“Don't worry about that, my dear." He hugged him tightly around the waist, closing his mouth with a kiss.

Fiancé. From now on, wherever they go, hand in hand, everyone will see the engagement ring on Martín's finger, and he will be able to call Andrés "my fiancé". Me and my fiancé… No, one more time, me, my fiancé and his brother who's has enough of us even more than before we became a couple.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If it will be any ideas for another chapter, it will be posted here soon. Hope you're having a good day. Let me know what you think in the comments below and see you hopefully in the next chapter. Kisses, Malibu <3


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